


Freelance Good Guys: The Perfect Shot

by TheGreys (alienjpeg)



Series: Freelance Good Guys [2]
Category: Freelance Good Guys, Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Action/Adventure, Animal Death, Blood and Gore, Captivity, Child Abuse, F/M, Fantasy, Magic, Romance, Sibling Rivalry, Slavery, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 15:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12436113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienjpeg/pseuds/TheGreys
Summary: Uekoro is a village in the beautiful and serene Midland Jungle, where the tiny elephants frolic and the trees become rainbows. It seems life couldn’t be more peaceful in such a blessed place. But inside Uekoro’s palace, turmoil grows between a cruel queen and the twin princes’ love for the same servant. How far will the brothers go for their dear friend? Is she worth throwing the village into chaos?





	1. A Day in Midsummer

**Author's Note:**

> It is recommended (though not required) that you read "Freelance Good Guys: Monster by Moonlight" before this. Please heed the tags for content warnings.
> 
> For a world map, concept art and more, visit this masterpost: http://mythicalshoes.tumblr.com/post/165447246045/looming-gaia-lore-masterpost

## [CHAPTER 1: A DAY IN MIDSUMMER]

 

            In the tropical Midland jungle was a prosperous village called Uekoro. In Uekoro, the weather was always warm and the rain fell in a fine mist. Rocky mountains choked with greenery loomed all around the village, where colorful birds flitted around and sang their songs during the day. As the proverb goes: There are always rainbows in Uekoro.

 

            A waterfall poured down from the highest peak of Toucan Mountain, just behind Uekoro’s royal palace. Three children frolicked under it this afternoon. They splashed in the water and dived from the rocky face, caring not about ruining their clothes.

 

            In the palace, they were two human princes and a servant elfette. But here in their secret playground, they were equals and the best of friends. A herd of dwarf tembo had joined them in the water, bristly little elephants with no tusks. They stood only as high as the children’s heads.

 

            Itanya, the elfette, had beckoned the tembo with her magic. She could speak with beasts, but only when the princes took off the iron shackles that poisoned her power. Lukas and Jelani Fanaka were twins, though hardly identical. Their complexions were smooth and brown, Lukas the lighter of the two. Dark hair bound in short locks topped Lukas’ scalp, the rest closely shaven. Jelani’s hair was left to grow free like a halo around his head.

 

            Lukas was lean and agile like the jaguars in the treetops. Jelani was solid and tough like the elephants in the bush. They fought and argued and disagreed every day, but despite their differences, they both had one thing in common: their love for Itanya.

 

            The elfette sat upon the back of a tembo, squealing with laughter as it made rainbows by spraying water into the light with its trunk. She leaned forward and whispered a suggestion in its floppy little ear. Just a moment later, it was spraying Lukas in the face. Jelani cackled at his brother until he was sprayed too, with such force that it knocked him back into the water.

 

            Lukas clambered up the face of the mountain, parallel to the waterfall. He scaled the stone just as naturally as walking until he was standing high up on a ledge. “Itanya! I bet I can flip three times!” he called.

Itanya giggled back, “I bet you can’t!”

            Doubt was all the motivation the boy needed, and he took a running start before leaping off the ledge. He managed two and a half flips before his belly smacked against the water. Dazed and disoriented, all the air was pushed from his lungs in an instant. White bubbles rose up as he sank down and down.

 

            Then something wrapped around his wrist and pulled. Lukas surfaced with a gasp, the world slowly coming into focus around him. Jelani was pulling him to shore with a smirk on his face. “You flopped like a pregnant hippo,” he told his smaller brother, and then he shoved him into the emerald grass.

 

            Jelani began scaling the wall himself. “I’ll show Itanya how it’s done,” he grunted, struggling his way up the rocks. His bare foot slipped and he clutched tighter, grasping for a new hold. Itanya cupped her hands in front of her lips and called,

“Be careful, Jelly!”

“I’m fine!” the boy insisted. He scrambled for better footing, struggled to hoist himself upwards as Lukas snickered from the shore.

 

            Jelani was half-way to the ledge when a shrill voice pierced the air. “Boys! What are you doing out here?” it barked, startling Jelani and sending him splashing back down into the water. He quickly surfaced and the children turned their wide, fearful eyes towards Queen Moswen Fanaka, coming down the stone steps from the palace to the pool.

 

            Moswen was a thin, angular woman with arrow-straight posture. She was the type of person who spoke through clenched teeth, and despite her reserved body language, there was nothing but intensity in her eyes. Her long orange dress was patterned with dark stripes, hair bound in braids and pulled into a tight twist at the back of her head.

 

            “I’ve been looking all over for you! You’re late for your lessons again!” she snapped, stepping closer to the pool. Then her gaze flicked over to Itanya. “And you! You should be slopping about in dishwater— _not_ my personal waterfall! Get out of there!”

 

            “At once, Miss Moswen! Sorry!” squeaked Itanya. She quickly slid down from the tembo and waded to shore, where an attendant seized her wrist and started pulling her back to the palace. Moswen turned to the other attendant and gestured to the herd of tembo.

 

            “Get those disgusting animals out of there too! Jelani,” she pointed to the palace, “go get dressed and see your martial arts tutor at once. Lukas, you will finish the rest of your archery lesson and then you will go to bed without dinner.” Jelani quickly slipped on his shoes, snagged his shirt off a branch and ran into the palace.

 

            Lukas trudged towards his mother and she took him by the wrist, yanking him along after Jelani. Behind them, the attendant was unsuccessfully trying to shoo the tembo from the pool. One of the animals slapped him with its trunk and sent him splashing in while the others trumpeted with glee.

 

            “How come Jelani gets off the hook but _I_ have to miss dinner?” whined Lukas.

Moswen dug her immaculately-manicured nails into his wrist as she replied, “Because someday, _you_ are going to be the king of Uekoro. More is expected of you, Lukas, and I will not allow our people to be ruled by a sloppy, irresponsible, buffoon. The gods know your father is embarrassing enough. You can—you _will_ —be better.”

 

*

 

            The sun was sinking behind the canopy, casting a warm glow upon the village. Bold shadows stretched along the ground, rays of light beaming in through the tall arched windows into the dining hall. There the Fanaka family and their closest guards and attendants sat around the long table for dinner.

 

            A chandelier made of elephant tusks flickered above while a sumptuous feast steamed below. Prime cuts of buffalo steak, mashed yams, sugary desserts, mangoes, bananas, olives, grilled beetles, and countless greens choked the tabletop. It was far more than the family could eat, yet Lukas was sentenced to sit and watch as they tried.

 

            An ocelot lazed in the windowsill while two mottled dogs got comfortable under the table. When no one was looking, Jelani sneaked scraps to them. Ekwame Fanaka, the twins’ father and current king of Uekoro, regaled everyone with heroic tales of his youth they had already heard a thousand times. They simply let him speak, for it was easier than trying to talk to one another.

 

            Ekwame was a balding, white-haired old man—over forty years Moswen’s senior. He walked with a staff and his tall, scrawny body was cloaked in heavy robes, dragging on the floor as his posture arched more and more over the years. To Lukas and Jelani, he felt more like a grandfather than a father, and even more like a stranger than a grandfather.

 

            “Children are womens’ work. Go pester your mother,” he’d always say. As for Itanya, she had no parents at all. She was born into slavery and bought by the Fanakas when she was just five years old. And here she was, still serving them at eleven, as she likely would for the rest of her life.

 

            Itanya scrubbed the tile floors nearby while the family enjoyed their dinner. A bucket of soapy water sat beside her and sweat beaded her brow, ragged dress wet and dirty. Each tile was carved with an intricate design. Moswen was never satisfied until every groove was clean.

 

            The elfette’s straight black hair was shaped in a choppy bob-cut. She had round green eyes and a copper complexion. Her pointed ears were oversized and her front teeth had a small gap between them. Once when the boys made fun of her gap, she used it to squirt water at them. It was one of her better memories.

 

            The iron shackles were back on her wrists now, and because fae were allergic to iron, they left a constant burn on her skin and blocked her magical powers. She tried to ignore the burn, focusing all of her energy on the floor. The Fanaka twins watched her with pity from the table. They were powerless to help though the urge pained them.

 

            The two were just nine years old, Lukas older by six minutes and so technically the first-born. That simple fact was what that granted him the privilege of being future king, though Lukas considered that “privilege” more of a burden. Why should he have to follow a path that others designed for him, meanwhile Jelani was free to forge his own? If he’d known beforehand, he would have stayed in the womb a few minutes longer.

 

            Dinner was nearly over by the time Itanya finished the floors, and she’d been at it for hours before the table was set. She stood up on wobbling, knobby knees and approached Ekwame and Moswen, hands folded politely before her. “Excuse me, Your Highnesses? I’ve finished cleaning. May I please eat now?”

 

            “Oh, have you?” Moswen queried doubtfully. She stood up and meandered around the room, examining the elfette’s work. Itanya followed nervously behind. Indeed, she could not find a speck of dirt left in any of the tiles. So Moswen returned to the table without a word, picked up her ivory goblet and took a long, slow sip of palm wine.

 

            The twins waited for her judgment just as anxiously as Itanya, while their father indifferently shoveled food into his mouth. Suddenly Moswen’s hand jerked and the goblet flew out of her grip. It clattered to the floor, spilling sticky palm wine across over a dozen tiles.

 

            “Clumsy me,” the woman said flatly. She offered a dull smile to Itanya. “I suppose your dinner will just have to wait, Servant. Get to it.” She waved her hand towards the mess, big gold and ruby rings glinting in the light. A frown deepened on Itanya’s face. Her head tilted down in defeat.

 

            “At once, Miss Moswen,” she said quietly, picking up her bucket and brushes. Jelani and Lukas exchanged displeased expressions. Then in an unspoken agreement, they kneeled beside Itanya, beginning to scrub the floor by her side. Moswen furrowed her shapely brows.

 

            “Just what are you two doing?” she snapped.

“I’m not eating anyway, so I might as well help, right?” Lukas replied, voice dripping with bitterness. Jelani simply told her,

“Yeah, I’m not hungry anymore.”

 

            The woman’s face burned hot with anger. She stood up and pointed to the doorway as she scolded them through gnashed teeth, “Noble hands do not touch filth. That is what _she_ is for.” She tipped her head at Itanya. “Jelani, I want you to clear your plate. And you, Lukas, can just march up to bed!”

 

            The boys opened their mouths to protest, but the sheer violent intensity in their mother’s face closed them again. She tilted her head ever so slightly, the whites of her eyes exposed on all sides. Slowly, the twins got back to their feet. Jelani returned to his seat while Lukas made his way to his room.

  

*

 

            Summer heat in the Midlands could be unbearable. Uekoro’s palace was cooled by everfloe crystals—or the magical cores extracted from ice nymphs. These crystals never melted and cooled the air around them for a full year before they lost their magical charge.

 

            They were also quite expensive, so the lower classes of Uekoro started and ended their days later this time of year. Now the sky was dark, the white moon was bright and fireflies buzzed around the village like dancing stars. Yet people were still bustling about in the glow of street lanterns.

 

            Lukas watched them enviously from his bedroom on the top floor of the palace. He stood out on the balcony and thought of a way he could get to the first floor. His bedroom door was locked until sunrise because he performed poorly on a math test. Moswen told him if he was so bored in his room, he should entertain himself by studying.

 

            Instead, Lukas was stripping the linens off his bed and tying the ends together to make a rope. He had to work quickly before his big-little brother got to Itanya first, for it was her “birthday” and he wanted to be the one to make it special.

 

            Itanya’s exact date of birth was a mystery, a piece of information lost in the chaotic, oppressive environment of her slaveyard childhood. She never thought to celebrate it until Lukas and Jelani insisted. Every year, some time in midsummer, they made plans to give her a day of freedom.

 

            Lukas tugged the linen-rope to test its strength. Then he tossed it over the side of the balcony and fastened the other end to a pole. He gave it one more tug to be sure, then swung his legs over the railing and rappelled his way down the side of the smooth plaster wall. No one noticed him in the dark of night, especially not in the bold shadow of the balcony.

 

            When he reached the very end of his rope, Lukas dropped about 8 feet down to a thatched octagonal roof. The straw rustled below his feet as he carefully made his way down to the slanted edge. From the edge, he could see guards patrolling the building. If they caught him out at such an hour, they would surely alert his parents.

 

            Another guard passed, clad in emerald-colored leather armor with pink and yellow accents. It was adorned with colorful feathers and beads. Palace guards were the best of the best, meticulously picked from Uekoro’s military based on their impressive skills. But even they failed to notice the little boy inching his way around the roof just above their heads.

 

            Lukas observed the guards’ routes for a moment. Then just as the last passing guard turned their back, he leaped from the roof as quietly as a cat. He rolled onto a cloth overhang and then kneeled when his bare feet made contact with the top of a stack of barrels. He smirked as he imagined Jelani trying to pull this off with his overfed body and his underfed brain.

 

            As he climbed down the stack of barrels, one of them creaked under his foot. The boy winced and glanced back at the guard a few yards away. Her back tensed and she was just starting to turn around. Lukas pushed his spine against the stack, trying to flatten himself in the shadows.

 

            Then his foot slipped on the rounded wood. Just as the guard looked his way, the stack of barrels was tumbling down and yams were spilling all over the walkway. Lukas heard a sword rip from a scabbard. The guard shouted, “Who’s there?” and he bit his tongue.

 

            The mess was blocking her view, but she was rushing around it now and Lukas had to move quickly. He scrambled away, practically on his hands and knees, and disappeared around a corner. He stopped there, stuck between two walls with nowhere to go that wouldn’t get him spotted.

 

            Lukas heard the guard rustling around the mess of barrels and yams, praying that she wouldn’t move any closer. Finally she muttered, “Lazy, spoiled ocelots…Why catch rats when they get scraps all day?” and then the boy heard the shuffle of her sandals as she hurried away, presumably to get help with the mess.

 

            That gave him some time. Lukas hurried back to the scene and approached a swinging side-door to the kitchen. It creaked with painful volume when he opened it and peeked inside. The room was empty and dark. He tip-toed his way over the tile, through the empty dining room and down the long hall. The sound of another guard’s sandals was approaching. Lukas was fast, but he could never make it back to the dining room in time.

 

            The guard passed through the hall, beads jingling against his armor with every step. The sound faded away as he turned a corner. Lukas peeked out from behind a potted palm. The boy just had a knack for hiding in plain sight, it seemed, even in his yellow pajamas.

 

            The 12 palace slaves had just one room they called home. It was a spartan place with only the bare minimum; 12 bedrolls upon the floor, a couple chairs, a single wash basin, and a chamber pot sectioned off by curtains. Lukas approached the door, then he jumped as he saw someone else coming down the other end of the hall.

 

            But it was only Jelani, also dressed down in his pajamas with soft boots on his feet. They regarded eachother with expressions of loathing. Lukas whispered harshly, “What are you doing here?”

“What about you?” Jelani shot back, marching up to his brother to give him a shove. “You’re supposed to be grounded!”

 

            “I don’t care. I’m taking Itanya to see the Rainbow Tree. You have no business with her, so get outta here!”

“I do so!” growled Jelani. “We’re going to catch fireflies. She doesn’t want to see you. Go back to your room!”

“Make me!” Lukas returned his brother’s shove. Jelani shoved him back even harder, knocking him against the wall.

 

            “I’ll tell mom!” threatened Jelani. Suddenly Lukas’ arm was around his neck, other hand pulling at his hair.

Lukas snarled, “Not if you’re knocked out!” and then Jelani twisted, wrestling him to the ground. The two rolled down the hall in a ball of flashing teeth and flying limbs.

 

            They rolled against the flimsy wooden door with a ‘slam!’ Shortly after, it opened. An elven woman in a dusty gown stood on the other side, her hair done up in a wrap. Some other elves were waking behind her, peering at the boys through the doorway.

 

            “What are you two doing? It is nearly midnight! Go to bed!” said the elfenne to the tangle of furious brothers.

They quickly got to their feet and Jelani told her, “Excuse you, Servant! I am your prince and it is not _your_ place to tell _me_ what to do. Fetch Itanya for me at once!”

 

            With a furrow of her brow and a roll of her eyes, the elfenne disappeared back into the room. She returned with Itanya by her side, the child rubbing the sleep from her eyes. A large worn shirt was draped around her, reaching all the way down to her knees.

 

            Itanya stepped into the hall and quietly closed the door behind her. “Hi, Guys,” she yawned. “Lukas, I thought you were grounded?”

“He is, so _I’m_ taking you to the Rainbow Tree for your birthday,” Jelani told her with a cheeky smile.

Lukas pushed him and barked, “You jerk! That was my idea!”

“The Rainbow Tree? Really? Is it rainbowy right now?” Itanya gasped. Her eyes seemed to light up.

 

            Jelani threw an arm around her shoulder, began leading her down the hall. “Yup,” he said, “It’s as colorful as it’s gonna get all year. I don’t care what Mom and Dad say— _I_ say you deserve to see it.”

Itanya clasped her hands together and squealed, “Oh, Jelani! I’m so excited, I can’t wait! Let’s go!”

 

            She took him by the wrist and began to run. Lukas scrambled after them.

 

 

*

 

            In the center of the main plaza was Uekoro's oldest Rainbow Tree. Its massive roots weaved in and out of the ground and spread up nearby buildings. Red fruits called _ekumela_ were peppered among its yellow leaves. But the most famous feature of this tree was its bark.

 

            During most of the year, the bark was black and hardened. But in summer it began peeling away, revealing the colored layers beneath. The first layer was red, the next yellow, then green, and finally blue. Now all four colors were visible in long, twisting streaks all the way up its gnarled trunk.

 

            Itanya and the Fanaka twins arrived at the plaza. Itanya shrieked with delight, jumping up and down when she saw the tree in all its glory. Never was she allowed this far from the palace. Coming here was a big risk, but in that moment it all became worth it.

 

            Villagers passed by with hardly a glance. It was hard to recognize the royal twins in the dark and Itanya was nobody to them. Moswen hid the key to the elfette’s shackles somewhere else since the incident at the waterfall, so they were unable to free her magic this time. The boys had been combing the palace every day for that key since.

 

            Jelani dropped to his hands and knees, offering his back as a step for Itanya. But she declined and took a running leap at the trunk, clinging like a frog as she scaled up to the highest branches. Lukas _did_ take his brother’s offer and made sure to step extra hard. He climbed up nearly as fast as the elfette while Jelani lagged behind, slipping and huffing and puffing along.

 

            The three sat side-by-side in one of the twisting branches, Itanya sandwiched in the middle. They watched the villagers go about their work while it was still cool enough to do so. Fireflies darted around in sparkling clusters and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves around them.

 

            “Look, I’m squashing that lady,” Jelani snickered, closing one eye as he pinched his fingers together in front of his face. From his view, a villager far below was being crushed between them.

Lukas did the same to a building and said, “Well, I’m crushing the butchery.”

“Yeah, well, I’m smashing the whole palace,” said Jelani.

 

            On a rocky hill overlooking the village stood the palace, tall and imposing with all of its spires piercing the night sky. Itanya stood up and grasped a branch above. She hooked the backs of her knees around it and hung-upside down with a big grin. “Stop being mean to the village,” she told them. “Let’s pretend we’re _setsiki_!”

 

            The children climbed around the branches, swinging and hanging and throwing _ekumelas_ at eachother. Jelani went deeper into the leaves and reached for another fruit. Just as he did, he felt tiny fingers on top of his own. A little golden-haired monkey with a black face and a ringed tail—called a _setsiki_ —stared back at him with its big, round eyes. They were both reaching for the same fruit.

 

            Jelani blinked, frozen in place. The monkey froze too. Then it suddenly screeched, baring a mouth full of sharp little teeth. Its long striped tail puffed up to three times its size. Jelani staggered back and nearly fell off the branch. Lukas and Itanya turned to the enraged monkey as it jumped up and down, shaking the smaller branch it perched on.

 

            Within seconds, a troop of other _setsiki_ crawled out from the shroud of leaves. They hopped and howled in a screeching cacophony around the children. Itanya tried to use her magic to calm the beasts, but she realized it was impossible as the shackles were still on her wrists.

 

            Jelani produced a little knife from somewhere on his person and called to his brother, “Get her out of here! I’ll distract them.” Lukas nodded and took Itanya by the wrist, leading her down the winding, twisting branch as Jelani agitated the monkeys.

“Don’t hurt them!” Itanya called back to Jelani, then she and Lukas were scrambling down to a lower level of branches. _Setsiki_ and _ekumelas_ rained down around them.

 

            The little monkeys leaped from branch to branch, flying this way and that in a frenzy. One snagged Lukas by the leg of his pajamas and he kicked it away. Itanya pulled one out of her hair and cried, “Okay, okay, we’re leaving! Shoo!” But the creatures were relentless, attacking the children all the way down to the bottom levels of the canopy.

 

            Eventually one darted under Lukas’ feet as he stood precariously on the edge of a branch. The boy wobbled, his foot slipped, and then he cried out as he tumbled to the grassy plaza 20 feet below. Itanya and Jelani cringed at the sickening ‘crunch!’ when he hit the ground.

 

            Lukas wailed in pain, attracting a crowd. These villagers had yet to notice the other children in the tree, so Jelani and Itanya tried to sneak down and return to the palace unnoticed. Unfortunately a young man spotted them creeping away and shouted, “Kids! Kids, is this your friend? Are you alright?”

 

            Another villager mentioned, “They are bloody! Get them to the clinic!” Indeed, none of the children escaped without bites or scratches. The first man, a big and strong fellow, scooped Jelani in his arms and began heading for the clinic. Jelani fought in his grip, trying to insist that he was fine, but the man wouldn’t hear it.

 

            “Find their parents!” said someone else, hovering over Lukas. “This one has a broken arm!” Itanya didn’t struggle as she was carried off behind Jelani. She knew punishment was coming regardless.

 

 

*

 

            Moswen’s silk robe swished dramatically behind her as she stormed into the clinic, flanked by four burly guards. Her hair was wrapped up, a goopy moisturizer mask smeared on her face with fur slippers on her feet. And yet she was no less intimidating to the children when she entered their hospital room.

 

            Staff dropped to their knees in her presence, bowing their heads in respect. Lukas was lying in the bed with his right arm in a sling while Itanya and Jelani sat in nearby chairs. Sticky bandages covered their wounds. Moswen’s eyes swept over the trio with a silent ferocity. They hunched back like turtles retreating into their shells.

 

            A doctor approached the queen and in an instant, that ferocity was gone. Moswen offered her a smile, patient and dignified, as the doctor explained the childrens’ condition. “There were multiple breaks. Prince Lukas’ arm is expected to heal within six months,” the doctor told her. “He should not be roughhousing or doing anything strenuous during that time.”

 

            She tipped her head towards Itanya and Jelani and continued, “They all have had contact with wild _setsiki_. There is always a possibility for disease, so we are rounding up each individual animal in the plaza for testing.”

 

            Itanya’s eyes rounded. She turned to the doctor and gasped, “Please don’t hurt the _setsiki_! It was our fault that—” She bit her own tongue, cutting herself short as Moswen approached her. Itanya expected a slap as the queen raised her hand, but instead, Moswen affectionately stroked her hair and smiled.

 

            “Oh, sweet child. I’m sure those cute little monkeys will be just fine,” cooed Moswen. Itanya felt her long nails dig into the back of her head and winced. Turning to her sons, Moswen went on, “And my poor boys, all shaken up! I hope you’ve learned a valuable lesson tonight. You’ve put yourselves _and_ your servant in danger.”

 

            Her tone of voice was sickly sweet, a parody of itself that made the kids shudder. They mumbled their apologies all at once, though they knew no apology would stop her wrath the moment they were behind closed doors. And she was nearly frothing at the mouth to get there—they could feel her fury through the gentle façade.

 

            “It’s far too late and there is so much to be done tomorrow,” Moswen told the children. “Let’s all go home, shall we?” She tilted her head at Lukas, a wide grin spread across her face. The whites flashed at the tops of her eyes. Lukas’ stomach dropped and he swallowed the bile creeping up his throat.

 

            “Er, actually, My Queen…” The doctor cleared her throat. “I strongly recommend they remain here until we test the animals, just for public safety. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of days. If you wish to post extra security, we will accommodate them as well.”

 

            Moswen’s façade faltered for just a brief moment. Something angry and ugly flashed on her face, and then it was twisted back into a patient smile. “Hm. Yes, that’s understandable,” she said. Relief washed over the children, tensed shoulders finally relaxing.

 

            Maybe after a couple days, her fury would subside.

 

*

 

            But as it turned out, it did not.

 

            If anything, it only gave Moswen’s anger time to fester. All of the _setsiki_ tested negative for disease, so Moswen dragged the children home to the palace. She took them into the slaves’ chamber during the middle of the day, where a couple of the servants risked a quick nap.

 

            “Get out of here, you vermin! Out!” the queen screeched, and in a flash they scrambled off their bedrolls and out of the room. Moswen slammed the door behind them and turned to the cowering children. She pointed a trembling finger at Itanya and growled through clenched teeth, “ _You_. You nearly got my sons killed! _You_ nearly ended the Fanaka lineage with your delinquency!”

 

            “It wasn’t her fault!” Jelani argued.

Lukas quickly added, “It was my idea to go to the—”

“Shut up, both of you!” Moswen shouted as she stamped her foot against the smooth stone floor. She raised her hand as if to smack Lukas. Then it faltered when he cowered with his arm still in a sling.

 

            “What of your archery?” she crowed at him. “Your _wheshpala_ is next year and you’re missing practice for half of it! You are going to fail, and you are going to make a fool out of me and all of Uekoro in front of the High King, Lukas!”

 

            Lukas cringed, wishing he could just sink into the ground and disappear. The _wheshpala_ was a coming-of-age ceremony for the next king of Uekoro. It was a feat of strength, agility, and determination meant to prove his worth not only as a protector of his people, but also his competence to Matuzu Kingdom.

 

            Uekoro’s king was expected to be a skilled bowman. The bow was the traditional weapon of Lukas’ people, dating back to some war or…Something he couldn’t remember because history had always bored him. Supposedly Ekwame and his father, and his father before him, and so on—they pierced all 100 targets with all 100 arrows during the _wheshpala_ without missing a one.

 

            Moswen raised her open palm at Jelani. His arm wasn’t broken. He could absorb the blows for Lukas’ mistakes. But then an even more twisted idea came to mind and she grabbed Itanya’s wrist instead. “It seems you boys are too fat-headed for discipline,” she hissed. “So from now on, should you misbehave? It shall fall on her.” She tipped her head at the shivering elfette.

 

            “What?”

“That’s not fair!” the boys cried in unison.

Moswen argued, “Nor was it fair for her to drag you into trouble like this! She must understand what she’s done wrong and so must you. If this is the only way to make competent men of you, then so be it!”

 

            Two elven slaves stood outside the door, listening in with their sensitive ears. They exchanged wide-eyed expressions of horror as Itanya yelped in pain, begging Moswen to stop whatever she was doing on the other side. There was a commotion from the boys, then after a moment the door flew open.

 

            The elves jumped out of the way as Itanya flew down the hall in tears, clutching her broken, twisted finger. Moswen stormed after her and stopped half-way down the hall. “Do not compromise my lineage again, you little wretch!” she barked, then she turned on her sandaled heel and walked off in the other direction.

 

            The Fanaka twins cautiously peeked out the doorway, watching their mother disappear up the stairs. Once she was gone, they hurried down the hall towards Itanya. The other slaves got to her first as she cowered in a nook for cleaning supplies. They offered comforting words, stroked her hair and checked the broken ring finger on her right hand.

 

            “Itanya, I’m so sorry! A-are you okay?” Lukas asked breathlessly.

“What do you think?” one of the elven slaves snapped, shooting a glare at them both. He waved his hand as if to shoo them away. “You two have caused her enough suffering! Just go away!”

           

            Jelani furrowed his brow, puffed out his chest and Lukas knew he was moving in for a fight. Lukas stopped it before it started, grabbing him by the hair and yanking back. Jelani cried out and raised a fist to punch his brother in retaliation. But Lukas warned him through his teeth, “Don’t. Make. This. Worse.” Slowly, Jelani’s fist uncurled.

           

            He dropped his hand to his side with a long sigh. The twins watched helplessly as Itanya whimpered in pain, knowing that no such injury would excuse her from her duties tomorrow.

 

*

 

            The months passed by all too quickly. Within six, Lukas was practicing archery again. But during that time the muscles in his arm had atrophied and it made his aim miserable. He barely fired off five arrows before he was exhausted. It was like starting from basics all over again.

 

            Jelani’s delinquency mostly went ignored, but Lukas could hardly sneeze without Moswen’s judgment. That had always been, though now Lukas strived for perfection harder than ever, for poor Itanya was the one paying for his mistakes. The boy felt that a thousand slaps across his face was less painful than watching Itanya get slapped once.

 

            Moswen scolded him at every opportunity. “You’re eating like a hog! Slow down,” she said, and she pulled Itanya’s ear.

“You’ve been at the table for ages! Hurry up and eat!” she said, and she stomped Itanya’s foot.

“Straighten your back, your posture is shameful!” she said, and she yanked Itanya’s hair.

“Your shirt is missing a button. Did you really go to school like that?” she said, and she sent Itanya to bed without dinner.

 

            Now it was midsummer and the day of the _wheshpala_. Lukas retired early the day before, but anxiety kept him awake all through the night anyway. He stood before the mirror in his room, hands trembling as the servants dressed him in his ancestor’s ceremonial garb. It was of light cotton dyed with green and orange stripes, like a sleeveless robe with large arm-holes.

 

            Intricate sandals were wrapped up his ankles, a beaded crown of colorful feathers placed upon his head. Lukas leaned closer to the mirror and centered it perfectly, lining up the center bead with his nose. It had to be perfect. Everything had to be perfect. _He_ had to be perfect or else Itanya would suffer.

 

            Moswen pulled the elfette’s ear until she cried just because Lukas’ spoon was too full. Lukas didn’t want to know what his mother would do to her if he mucked up the _wheshpala_. He took a deep breath, focused on his breathing and stopped the tremble in his hands. He didn’t intend to find out.

 

            Four guards escorted him to the village’s central plaza where the Rainbow Tree stood in all its glory. An audience of everal hundred cheered as he moved down the walkway. Sweat beaded his brow and he swallowed the lump in his throat. There were even more people on balconies from buildings all around, throwing Matuzan lily petals that floated away in the breeze. A light southwest wind was blowing. Lukas took note of that.

 

            Among the crowd were dignitaries from nearby settlements. High King Yazid Matuzu himself had attended, as Uekoro wasn’t far from the capital city. He and Ekwame had been friends in their school days at the World Athenaeum. He was a sickly old elf with dark bags beneath his eyes and a crooked spine. His long dark hair was tied in braids.

 

            His elven wife—High Queen Uzoma Matuzu—was sitting by his side on a balcony holding their infant son, Prince Marghan. Uzoma’s crown was made of delicately-shaped ivory and gold, towering two feet tall. She fanned herself with an ornate paper fan.

 

            Lukas’ gaze drifted to the right. There stood his own family—Ekwame, Moswen, and Jelani, each wearing very different expressions. To his left he saw Itanya and the other elven slaves. Itanya offered a smile, though her eyes were doleful under sagging brows. Her arms were clasped behind her back, dressed in the same rags as usual while the people around her wore their finest silks and beads.

 

            The boy’s heart hammered in his chest. He shot her a nervous grin back, and then an attendant was handing him a bow and quiver full of rainbow-wood arrows tipped with parrot feathers. He slung the quiver around his shoulder and followed the attendant to the very center of the courtyard. He faced away from the semi-circled crowd.

 

            Ahead, large corkboard panels were raised to catch stray arrows. Ekwame hobbled out with his cane and clamped a gnarled hand on his son’s shoulder. The crowd quieted as he announced, “My family, my people, my King and Queen! I thank you for attending my son, Lukas’, _wheshpala_. Like myself and my father, his father, and his father before him tracing back to the founders of our village, he will no doubt prove himself to be a perfect shot!”

 

            The crowd roared and more petals rained from the sky. Lukas brushed one off his nose. Ekwame continued, “In the old days, our people had but one source of food: the humble _ekumela_. But the Uekorans were not without competition, for the rainbow trees were crawling with thieving _setsiki_.”

 

            Ekwame swept his hand towards the Rainbow Tree. The whole tree had been throroughly stripped of fruit days ago for this occasion. The monkeys were hungry and agitated, chattering as they darted around the massive canopy.

 

            “These agile little cretins were too fast to catch by hand,” continued Ekwame. “So our people mastered the art of the bow and arrow. The first Uekoran king saved the village from famine by shooting down every _setsiki_ in this very tree. There were a hundred total, which the villagers feasted upon while the _ekumela_ grew ripe, and then they feasted once more.”

 

            Ekwame smiled wide, exposing dentures carved from ivory and gold. “We continue to feast today, as one of the most prosperous villages in Matuzu’s great kingdom! Gods bless Lukas Fanaka, for one day he shall reign in my place as our new champion!”

 

            Lukas hunched slightly while the crowd exploded into excitement. His stomach rolled, the world blurring in front of his eyes. To his right, Jelani grinned and winked with a thumbs-up. To his left, Itanya nervously wrung her hands. Something about her looked off but he couldn’t place it, then he jumped with a start as a guard sounded a horn.

 

            The sound echoed off the surroundings cliffs. Heavy, intense drumbeats followed from four male drummers wearing wooden masks and feathers. Four female dancers in frilly garb swayed between them, waving _ekumela_ skewers in the air. They danced in a circle around the Rainbow Tree.

 

            _Setsiki_ crawled out to the edges of the canopy to squawk at the drummers. Lukas took one more deep breath and nocked his first arrow at a monkey making its way down the trunk. It was emaciated and desperate, trying to snag a fruit from one of the dancers’ taunting skewers.

 

            Lukas carefully lined up his shot. In that moment, the monkey turned its face towards him. Its eyes seemed to flash, perhaps a trick of the sunlight. It froze in place as if made of stone. Just a second later it let out a final squawk as the arrow pierced through its side.

 

            The wounded _setsiki_ lost its grip on the trunk and fell stiffly to the ground. It was quiet and unmoving, but the crowd was going wild. Lukas let out a long breath and took another in as he lined up his second shot. More monkeys were lured out by the dancers.

 

            Like the last, this _setsiki_ turned to Lukas and froze right as he lined up his arrow. It too was struck down. By the fifth time this happened, Lukas was getting suspicious. The monkeys paid him no mind, completely focused on the food until right before he was about to shoot.

 

            Then each one of them would freeze in place until he took the shot. Perhaps a natural fear response, he thought—though they didn’t seem to fear him at all last year, and he had scars to prove it! He shot another _setsiki_ and the crowd cheered once again. When he glanced at Itanya, the pain on her face made his chest feel hollow.

 

            She hated that he was killing these creatures. Though they had hurt her in the past, she had nothing but love for them. Lukas swallowed the bile creeping up his throat and fired another arrow. It struck its frozen target and marked the eighth kill in a row.

           

            One by one the monkeys fell. The colorful trunk of the Rainbow Tree was stained with blood that trickled down the grooves of the wood. Some of the _setsiki_ were pinned in place against the tree, and by the 40 th kill, their corpses littered it top to bottom.

 

            The trunk became a pillar of death and the creatures just kept coming down to their doom, climbing over their dead brethren as if compelled by forces greater than themselves. “Hunger is the greatest motivator in the world,” Lukas’ mother liked to say when she sent him to bed without dinner.

 

            Fifty _setsiki_ down. He was half-way there and he hadn’t missed a shot yet. Gods help him, he might just pull this off, he thought. That is, until the fifty-sixth shot. The monkey froze like all the others. But when Lukas let the arrow fly, the monkey seemed to snap out of a daze. In a flash, it leaped off of the tree and the arrow struck wood, catching not a hair.

 

            Lukas heart skipped. He thought he might vomit as the crowd gasped, then fell to awkward silence. Even the drummers’ beat wavered for a moment when they exchanged glances through their masks. A dancer shrieked as the monkey climbed up her leg and onto her skewer, snatching an _ekumela_ before running back up the tree with it.

 

            Lukas’ eyes darted around at the crowd, looking back at him with a thousand wide eyes. He dared to look at Moswen who he thought would be glaring red-hot daggers back at him. She was doing exactly that, only towards Itanya instead. The elfette looked back at the queen like a mouse might look at a snake.

 

            Then Lukas finally noticed what was off about her. Her wrists were free of her shackles, baring her iron-burn scars. But how? He and Jelani still hadn’t found the key. Unless one of the other slaves had. Or maybe…

 

            “Keep firing, Boy!” a voice called from the crowd. Lukas turned to Ekwame, shouting through his cupped hand. “Don’t let that monkey make a monkey of _you_!” Smiles returned to his audience. Their chatter filled the air once more, loud and encouraging.

 

            Lukas blinked, wobbling a little. His nerves were shot. He wiped the sweat from his brow and nocked a new arrow. This time the _setsiki_ froze, and then it fell with all the others. The _ekumela_ fell from its hands and rolled across the bloody plaza.

 

*

 

            By the end of the _wheshpala_ , Lukas fired 112 arrows to achieve 100 kills. It was far from perfection. Yet he was still congratulated by King and Queen Matuzu. The feast was celebrated as if he wasn’t a disgusting embarrassment to his family.

 

            Every fallen _setsiki_ was roasted and eaten by the guests. Lukas couldn’t stomach even a bite. He watched his parents schmooze with the Matuzus, spilling endless excuses for their faulty son.

 

            “He’s been ill,” they said.

“He’s still recovering from an injury,” they said.

“He never missed during practice,” they said.

 

            Technically that was all true, and Lukas had to wonder how he would have done if he hadn’t broken his arm last year. Ekwame kept glancing at him throughout the feast with disappointment in his eyes, as if to ask “ _How? How could you have failed_?” Surely Moswen was disappointed too, but all Lukas could see on her face was burning rage concealed under a façade of grace.

 

            That night when the feast was over and the guests said their goodbyes, that façade shattered like a clay pot.

 

            Moswen snatched Itanya by her bare, scarred wrist and dragged her to the slaves’ quarters. A pair of shackles jangled in her other hand. The queen didn’t have to yell, for the slaves saw her coming and scattered. Lukas and Jelani trailed behind their mother, pulling on her dress, begging her not to hurt their friend.

 

            Their pleading fell on deaf ears. Moswen roughly snapped the shackles back onto Itanya’s wrists. Lukas observed when she locked them, then tucked the little silver key in the neckline of her dress. “Please, Miss Moswen, I-I didn’t mean to—” Itanya began.

Moswen cut her off, wailing, “Did you think it was _funny_? Making a fool of Lukas in front of the Matuzu family?”

 

            The woman stepped forward and delivered a slap to Itanya’s face. The sound cracked the air and the elfette hit the ground. “What good is an elf if it can’t control a simple monkey?” Moswen went on. “Are you less intelligent than a monkey, Itanya? Are you truly lower than the beasts?”

 

            Lukas and Jelani rushed to Itanya’s side. They kneeled beside her, wrapping their arms around her as they glared up at their towering mother. Moswen glared back. Her eyes flicked to Lukas and she growled, “Why do you protect her, Lukas? She caused you to fail! She made fools of our family!”

 

            “No, you _cheated_!” barked Lukas. “There wasn’t supposed to be magic!”

Moswen’s eyes seemed to flash with anger. “It is tradition! Do you truly think your bumbling father shot down a hundred _setsiki_ on his own? No! It is us—the Fanaka women—who ensure their success.”

 

            She gestured to Itanya, cowering on the floor with a welt on her cheek. “But never has an elven slave been so incompetent! She could not keep those little vermin under her spell, and so you suffered for it. You do not get another _wheshpala_ , Lukas. You must live with this failure and shame for the rest of your life, and so must I.” Her eyes seemed to darken. “Do you still wish to defend her?”

 

            Itanya exchanged glances with the boy. He tightened his arms around her and then glared back at his mother. “With my life,” he told her. His voice quivered ever so slightly, but he did not move. Jelani held his ground right beside him. Moswen narrowed her piercing eyes, corners of her mouth dropping in disgust.

 

            There was a pause between them. Then Moswen said, “So be it, Child.” With that, the woman clasped her hands at her waist, turned and walked out the door. The children listened to the slow clacking of her heeled sandals as she disappeared down the hall.

 

            Itanya blinked and tears rolled down her face. “It’s—it’s my fault,” she sniffled. “The _setsiki_ kept dying and dying and I-I lost my nerve and I—” Her voice cracked and she broke into sobs, burying her face against Lukas’ neck. “I’m sorry, Lukas! I’m so sorry!”

 

            Jelani rubbed her back and assured her, “It’s not your fault, Itanya. Lukas is terrible at everything. He would have missed anyway.”

Lukas rolled his eyes and gave his brother a quick jab with his fist. Then he said to the elfette, “This whole thing was a lie. I can’t believe it…”

 

            He slowly shook his head. “My ancestors are a joke! All those amazing things they did, they don’t owe it to the Fanaka women. They owe it to _you_!”

 

            The boys stood up and helped Itanya to her feet. She brought the neck of her dress to her face, wiped away the tears and mucus. “Moswen isn’t done with me. I’m going to be punished for this,” she sighed hopelessly.

Jelani clamped a hand on her shoulder and said sternly, “We won’t let it happen. The _wheshpala_ is over and that makes us men, so we’ll fight for you like men!”

 

            “No!” Itanya shrugged out of his grip. “I don’t want you to fight her, it’ll just make it worse! Please, just do as she says and make her happy. That’s the best thing you can do for me. Promise?” The brothers exchanged looks of disgust, anger, and disappointment. After a moment, Lukas let out a sigh.

 

            “Okay,” he grumbled, “I’ll just be her stupid little puppet…”

Itanya narrowed her eyes. “You will, if you care about me,” she said flatly. Lukas’ face softened. He watched Itanya trudge away, off to do her nightly chores.

 

            “I do,” he muttered below his breath.

 

*

 

            Itanya hadn’t been wrong. Moswen bided her time with that punishment until almost a week later, when the elfette ran out of her office screaming bloody murder. Itanya bolted passed the guards in the hall, eluding their grasp. Her hands were pressed tightly over her face and spots of blood left a trail on the gleaming tiles behind her.

 

            Moswen rushed out of the office shortly after, stopping a short distance from the doorway. There was a silver letter opener in her hand, the pointed edge stained red. A guard rushed up to her and asked, “What happened, my queen? Are you alright?”

 

            “Oh, gods! I’m just fine, but the child—” Moswen feigned distress and gestured down the hall, where two other guards were trying to wrangle the elfette. “I caught her playing in my office and despite all my warnings, the inevitable happened! I’m afraid she’s hurt herself terribly!”

 

            The palace clinician jumped with a start. The door to the infirmary was kicked open by a guard, holding a screaming, bloodied Itanya in his arms. Dr. Asha was a minervae—also called a “soul nymph”. She looked quite like a human with pointed elven ears, but her hair, eyes, and lips were pink. She towered well over seven feet tall with a heavy build, all clad in mint-green robes.

 

            The guard set Itanya on the exam table in the middle of the room. “The queen says she poked her eye out with a letter opener,” he explained. His tone was doubtful, and so too was the look on Dr. Asha’s face.

“Thank you,” said the clinician. “Please go. I will see to her from here.”

 

            With a nod, the guard disappeared and closed the door behind him. Itanya was still sobbing, gnashing her teeth as Dr. Asha gently pried her hands away from her bloody face. Her left eye was squeezed shut, blood still tricking between her lids. The minervae sighed and shook her head as she turned to the counter.

 

            She began preparing supplies as she asked, “What happened, Itanya?”

“The guard told you!” Itanya wailed. Dr. Asha glanced back at her with a frown. No fae could tell a lie.

“What _really_ happened?” the clinician urged. Itanya rapidly shook her head.

“I don’t want to say!”

 

            Dr. Asha added powdery, gooey ingredients into a bowl, stirring them together before diluting the ooze with water. “Do you feel like you’ll be in trouble if you tell me?” she asked. She snapped her fingers on both hands and two little orbs of light sparked to life in her palms.

 

            “Yes,” Itanya admitted quietly, breath hitching. Dr. Asha let out a thoughtful hum. She turned her palms over and the orbs of light rolled into the mixture. They fizzed as they sank, then the goop turned from muddy brown to shimmery green. She offered the bowl to Itanya and told her,

“Drink this. It will ease your pain.”

 

            The elfette didn’t hesitate. She tipped the bowl back and drank to the last drop before handing it back. “I find it strange,” began Dr. Asha, “that anyone would punish you for getting bitten, or breaking your finger, or gouging your eye out. Such pain is surely punishment enough.”

 

            She furrowed her pink brows slightly, turning to the counter once more. “I think someone is mistreating you. And I think that someone is very powerful with a face like a thousand masks. Is that right?”

Itanya’s gaze fell, a frown creasing her face as she suddenly felt faint. She murmured, “Yes…”

 

            “Rest your head,” said Dr. Asha. She cupped the back of the elfette’s skull, guiding it down to the pillow at the end of the table. “I am sorry you were born into such a life, Little One. But know that I am a minervae, and with our eyespot we have visions of the future…”

 

            The clinician tapped the circle of white skin on her forehead. It was about the size of a coin and it glowed as if a tiny sun burned beneath her flesh. “I see a grown elfenne, small yet mighty with a gap in her smile. And smile she does, for she runs free under the open skies.”

 

            Dr. Asha’s lips spread into a soft grin, eyes sullen. She caressed the side of Itanya’s face as the elfette began slipping out of consciousness. “Cruelty will not be your undoing, Child, I promise you that. One day you will know freedom.”

  

 

*

 

            Every year, some time in midsummer, the Fanaka boys competed for Itanya’s time on her birthday. As Moswen became more scrutinizing, they had to get more creative, put their rivalry aside and work together to make it happen.

 

            One of the boys was responsible for distracting their parents while the other took Itanya somewhere special. This year on Itanya’s 19th birthday, it was Jelani’s turn to be the distraction. He and his fellow military students threw together a tournament, making Moswen and Ekwame the guests of honor.

 

            They spent all morning moving chairs and turning the courtyard into an arena. By that afternoon, most of the castle staff was in attendance while Lukas lie “sick” in bed. In reality, he was sneaking out with Itanya up the long, winding path that took them to the top of Toucan Mountain.

 

            The two walked hand-in-hand, mindful not to slip on the wet stony path. Mist rained down from the great waterfall. It caught the sunlight and projected shimmering rainbows in the air, hanging high above the village where colorful birds swooped this way and that.

 

            The birds’ chatter was all around, near and far, echoing off the dramatic cliffsides. Itanya couldn’t stop smiling as she pointed and ooh’d and aah’d over every little thing. Lukas couldn’t help but smile either. Simply listening to her passion for life made his heart sing.

 

            Her burned wrists were bare today, but only by the skin of Lukas’ nose did he manage to swipe the key off Moswen a few years ago. Sick of her boys combing every inch of the palace to undermine her, she finally put it on a chain that she wore around her neck at all times.

 

            And yet her crafty sons still prevailed! Somehow Lukas managed to creep passed three patrolling guards and into his parents’ room, take the key off the delicate chain, replace it with a fake, and unlock Itanya’s shackles without being noticed.

 

            Jelani could have never pulled off such a gauntlet of stealth. He was much better at _getting_ attention than avoiding it, but for that Lukas was grateful. Otherwise he would never be standing on top of Toucan Mountain, holding hands with the love of his young life.

 

            They peered over the cliff’s edge, watching the busy village below. The villagers were but specks meandering around the pathways like ants in a tunnel. Behind them was a dense jungle and the babbling of the river from which the great waterfall was sourced.

 

            “It’s amazing up here,” the elfenne gasped. “I wish we could just leave Uekoro and stay forever!” A moment of silence passed.

Lukas mulled it over, and then he queried, “Why don’t we?”

 

            Itanya turned to him, right eyebrow sagging above an apologetic smile. Her left eyebrow was obscured by a strap of fabric tied diagonally around her head, hiding the eye which Moswen stole years ago. She said, “You know that’s silly. We wouldn’t last a day in the wild.”

 

            “Then we’ll go to the city! Cross the desert into Yerim-Mor Kingdom.”

“Oh? Let’s say we survive such a journey, and then what?”

Lukas shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’d live in the gutter forever as long as you were there too.”

“You want me to live in the gutter, Lu?” Itanya cocked her right eyebrow with a cheeky grin.

 

            Flustered, the boy shook his head, chin-length locks flying every which way. “No! I didn’t mean—I just—I—” he babbled, cut silent as the elfenne laughed and threw her arms around his shoulders. He just sat there, frozen yet burning. Itanya laid her head on his shoulder, her smile fading.

 

            “Moswen would never stop searching,” she began sullenly. “And when she found us, she…Lukas, I think she’d actually _kill_ me.” Lukas opened his mouth to speak, then shut it as something rustled in the jungle. Leaves were being jostled, sticks cracking under heavy footsteps.

 

            The two turned and got to their feet, ready to dash away. But what pushed through the brush was not a predator, it was a herd of three friendly dwarf tembo. Itanya’s eye rounded and she gasped, charging straight for one of the animals and squeezing it in a hug. The tembo made a high trumpeting sound and wrapped its trunk around her back.

 

            Lukas stared in confusion until she explained, “Lukas, it’s Bristles! I can’t believe it! Aww, I haven’t seen you in years!” She pet the little elephant’s trunk. It nuzzled her while the others circled Lukas. The boy held up his palms, tried to show that he meant no harm.

 

            “She says she smelled us. She has an incredible nose,” Itanya reported with a big smile. She pressed her forehead to the tembo’s for a moment, then said to it, “No, Jelani’s not dead! He’s just at the palace. He had to distract Moswen so I could celebrate my birthday up here.”

 

            She gestured to Lukas and went on, “Yes, Moswen’s his mother. You remember, don’t you? Her attendants chased you away from your pool and I haven’t seen you since. I thought you were gone forever!” Lukas watched the one-sided conversation between Itanya and the tembo, wishing he could hear the other side of it.

 

            He was only human—a commoner without a spark of magic in his veins—and so he would never hear the secret language of the beasts like elves did. The conversation went on for a few minutes, until finally Itanya climbed onto the tembo’s back. The animal lumbered over to Lukas and Itanya extended her hand to him.

 

            “Come on! Bristles wants to take us to a secret place,” she said. Lukas was reluctant. His experiences with animals in his life had been tedious at best and violent at worst. Surely nature held its grudges against the Fanaka lineage for their bloody encroachment.

 

            He floundered for a moment, swiped at his neck, looked back at the village below. Then he let out a sigh and took her hand, boarding the tembo’s back just behind her. Bristles squeaked and took them deep into the jungle. The other two tembo followed in a line, holding eachothers tails with their trunks.

 

            They forged their own path, crushing any undergrowth beneath mighty feet. Lukas craned his neck to see the jungle canopy stretching high above. The leaves trembled with life all around and its chatter filled the air. Beams of sunlight just barely pierced through the thick ceiling of growth.

 

            Lukas had been told his whole life to stay out of the Midland wilderness. “To hungry tigers and wicked nymphs, boys like you are nothing but meat,” Moswen once told him. He did not doubt her, and he was regretting this more every second until Itanya turned to face him.

 

            Her bright, eager smile crushed his doubt like sticks beneath the tembo’s feet. All he wanted was for her to be happy and free, and for this wonderful moment he was able to give her just that. After a long trek through the jungle, the tembo broke through a clearing.

 

            Here, the thick undergrowth gave way to a layer of leaves decomposing over grass. The river wound through a forest of rainbow trees—dozens of them in the most colorful phase of their growth. Their leaves were crawling with chittering _setsiki_ who stopped to stare at the intruders.

 

            Itanya squealed and leaped off the elephant. Lukas moved cautiously behind as she twirled and danced through the trees, laughing all the while. The tembo trumpeted and dispersed, disappearing into the jungle while monkeys dropped to the ground to dance with Itanya.

 

            Lukas stopped in his tracks, hand moving to the dagger on his hip. The _setsiki_ simply jumped around her in a circle, some holding _ekumelas_ above their heads. Spinning towards Lukas, Itanya took him by the hands and spun him around with her. He was apprehensive at first, eyeing the monkeys warily.

 

            Itanya stopped and pulled him in a tight embrace. “Your family’s wickedness is not your own. They forgive you, Lukas,” she told him. The boy looked all around at the surrounding animals. Their tails weren’t puffed out and they seemed just as content as if there were no intruders at all.

 

            “Do you?” he asked her, a tiny wrinkle between his brows. Itanya made a similar expression back.

“For what?”

“Itanya, _everything_!” He nearly laughed, though it was hardly jovial. “Every time I mess up, every time I mouth off, every time I do wrong— _you_ suffer for it! Between me and Jelani…” He shook his head. “Every day must be misery.”

 

            Itanya shrugged, wearing a little grin. “Not every day,” she said, gesturing all around before taking his hands. “You’re a lovely person, Lukas, despite the evil around you. That’s…That’s why I love you.”

 

            The boy’s knees grew weak. He felt they would give any moment. “I feel the same way about you, Itanya,” he stammered. Her smile spread, flashing the gap in her teeth. Her knees gave in before his did and she pulled him to the ground with her.

 

            _Setsiki_ scattered as they landed, scampering up into the rainbow trees. Itanya and Lukas rolled together among the fallen leaves, caring not about ruining their clothes. Who kissed who first was a mystery; they just seemed to open their eyes and their lips were pressed together as tightly as their embrace.

 

*


	2. Stripes

## [CHAPTER 2: STRIPES]

 

            Years were passing on, and so too was the king of Uekoro.

 

            Time was simply taking its toll on the elder Ekwame. Less and less did he leave his bed, much less his throne. Moswen begrudgingly picked up even more of his slack while all the credit was still attributed to her husband. Once he was gone, Lukas would take his place and make Jelani captain of the Uekoran military.

 

            That was the plan thus far, but first the Fanaka twins needed to advance their education. Uekoro was grand in its own right, though it lacked the resources of bigger settlements. Matuzu Capital was the biggest and grandest city in all of Serkel, boasting the location of the World Athenaeum.

 

            Only the most notable (and richest) people on Looming Gaia attended schooling at the Athenaeum; the world’s largest repository of knowledge. The students were mostly nobles both major and minor, which extended to Lukas and Jelani, their ancestors, and their ancestors before them.

 

            The twins’ luggage was packed and being hauled outside by attendants. In the courtyard, a winged dragon was waiting with a gazebo on its back. It was but a gentle green giant with a long neck and big flat teeth, chewing on hay while bags were strapped to its harness.

 

            “Speak well and dress well,” Moswen told her sons. They stood by the big front doors of the palace with staff all around—guards, attendants, the cooks, and even the slaves—to say their goodbyes. Moswen went on, “You are representing the Fanakas and all of Uekoro! That means everyone in this room is counting on you, including your father.”

 

            The boys’ eyes flicked to Ekwame, slumped down in a wheelchair. He raised one trembling, arthritic hand in the air. The boys grasped it between their own and planted a kiss on the old man’s head. “Jelani,” he rasped, looking at his youngest and largest son through clouded eyes. “though you will not lead our people, you shall protect them from our foes and guide them through the most troubling times. May you have courage and strength, my son.”

 

            Jelani nodded, mouth pressed into a thin line. Ekwame then turned to Lukas. He said, “Lukas, you are my heir and the future of Uekoro. Someday soon, you shall be responsible for the livelihoods of our people, our relations with the kingdom, its enemies and allies…”

 

            The old man let out a ragged series of coughs. Then he continued, his voice hoarse, “May you have integrity and wisdom, my first-born son.” Lukas offered a silent bow, first to his father and then another to the crowd, then stepped back and joined his brother’s side by the doorway.

           

            “This is not only an opportunity in education,” added Moswen, “but for building our family as well. Like your father says, Lukas, you will be managing good relations with the other settlements someday. There will be many noblewomen seeking their prince in attendance. We expect that you find a woman to your liking, one who will rule by your side with grace and competence.”

           

            Lukas quirked an eyebrow. “A noblewoman? Mom, I’m not ready to marry, I—”

“You have four whole years to choose,” Moswen told him, waving a dismissive hand. “And I care not what corner of the world she hails as long as she's human. Just see that her lineage is royal and in good standing with Matuzu Kingdom. Do _not_ bring home some coinless nobody with a pretty face!”

 

            Opening his mouth to speak, Lukas shook his head and closed it again. He sighed through his nostrils and grumbled, “Sure…” The twins’ closest attendants approached them for hugs and handshakes, said their farewells and wished their good lucks.

 

            After the attendants came the guards, the cooks, and finally the slaves. Itanya had her turn to approach the brothers, and though she was in her early 20’s now, she looked just as plain as she always had. Still dressed in rags with her choppy hair and gap-toothed smile, only with one less eye.

 

            The elfenne anxiously wrung her hands, shackles jangling on her wrists. Her eye glistened with tears. She spread her arms and said not a word, for she would surely start to bawl, and the brothers hugged her both at once. Lukas discreetly slipped a little silver key into her dress pocket.

 

            It was the key to her shackles, in case her life was threatened and she had to escape the village. Neither of the brothers put such wickedness passed their mother. Lukas spoke about it with Itanya many times, and though she was unlikely to use it, the key would serve as her little ray of hope until he returned.

 

            Perhaps his leaving was for the best, he thought. Moswen couldn’t punish her for his mistakes if he was gone. And when he graduated and returned to take the throne, Lukas vowed to free her from her binds and take her as his wife. The people wouldn’t like it, he realized, and they were likely to protest a lowly slave-born queen.

 

            Lukas didn’t care. He would throw the entire village into chaos just to be with her. But they were not there yet, and for now they must be apart. A kiss would earn her a savage beating from Moswen, he and Jelani knew well, so they dismissed her as chastely as the rest.

 

            The pain in their eyes told another story as they watched her return to the crowd. The brothers followed two guards out to the dragon while their family cheered blessings and goodbyes. A dragoneer—the one who piloted the beast—rolled a ladder down and the two climbed into the gazebo.

 

            They took one last look at the crowd funneling out into the courtyard, all tears, white smiles, and waving hands. The dragon beat its wings and kicked up a mighty wind. The brothers saw Itanya shielding her face from the dust, growing further and further from them as the dragon ascended.

 

            The elfenne brought both hands to her lips and blew them a kiss. Then they were but a speck, a pair of great wings soaring through the cloudless sky.

 

*

           

            Matuzu Capital seemed like a whole new world compared to the Fanaka brothers’ simple village. The World Athenaeum was a massive compound made up of many different buildings, almost a small city in itself. Once they arrived, Lukas and Jelani went their separate ways.

 

            Jelani headed to his dorm in the barracks area while Lukas stayed on the opposite side of the campus near the library. His workload was ten times heavier than Jelani’s, which seemed to be a running theme in his life. Over the course of the year Jelani spent his free time partying, getting sloppy drunk with his peers, and taking a new partner—or several—to bed every night.

 

            “Free time” became an alien concept to Lukas. He buried his nose in his schoolwork and ignored everything outside. Not that he had much of a social life back in Uekoro anyway; he had always been a loner. But he knew Itanya would suffer most from his poor grades.

 

            And now he wasn’t even there to comfort her. She occupied Lukas’ mind all the time. He wondered and worried, hoped and prayed, even tried to devise ways to communicate with her. But it was no use. Any letters addressed to Itanya would draw suspicion from Moswen.

 

            He received letters from Moswen once in a while, always asking how his grades were and if he was eating well and if he fancied any ladies here at the Athenaeum. His replies were always the same: Good, yes, and no. The second one was a lie. By the end of his first year, simple forgetfulness melted ten pounds from his bones.

 

            It seemed to go by in a flash. When the brothers’ vacation arrived and it was time to visit Uekoro, they realized they hadn’t seen eachother for over 350 days. And what a difference that time made, as they barely recognized eachother when they arrived at the dragon port.

 

            Lukas was rail-thin, his once vibrant eyes dull and ringed with dark bags. His ropes of hair had grown passed his chin and were in dire need of maintenance.

 

            As for Jelani, he’d packed on at least twenty pounds and every bit of it was muscle. All that fat he had a year ago was sculpted into a more defined, statuesque shape. Before, his hair grew wild and free around his head, but now it was shaven down to the skin.

 

            On the flight to Uekoro, Jelani regaled his little-big brother about his swordsmanship prowess, all his tavern brawls won, all the hearts he’d conquered—woman or man, commoner or fae, or otherwise. He claimed he could charm anyone he wanted right into his arms.

 

            Looking the way he did now, Lukas believed it. And he couldn’t help but wonder what Itanya would think when she saw them after all this time. He looked and felt so haggard, perhaps she wouldn’t feel the same about him anymore. Perhaps she’d outgrown them both completely.

 

            She loved them both, he was certain, though Lukas had always felt that she loved him a little more. Itanya was sensitive, perceptive in ways that Jelani was not, in ways he could never wrap his mind around. Years ago, she whispered that she didn’t think Jelani would be faithful to his future wife. The way his brother ran his mouth today, Lukas now understood what she meant.

 

            “I hustled at the tavern every weekend,” said Jelani. He flexed his bicep and grinned. “Undefeated arm wrestling champion! Anyway, I saved up just enough for this…” Fishing in his pants pocket, he pulled out a tiny gold box just a couple inches in diameter. Ornate floral designs were carved all around it.

 

            When he turned the key on the back, the lid opened and revealed an ivory tembo figure inside. The tembo was standing up on two legs with its trunk in the air, slowly rotating as a soft jingle played. Lukas cracked a smile and reached for it, tone dripping with sarcasm as he chirped, “Aww, Brother, you shouldn’t have!”

 

            “Pff, you wish. It’s for Itanya,” grunted Jelani, snapping the device closed and tucking it back in his pocket. “You get her anything?”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Lukas leaned against the side of the gazebo and shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know…” he mumbled.

 

            Jelani stepped closer and nudged him with his elbow. “Come on, what is it?”

“None of your business.”

“Ha!” Jelani shocked the air with a clap. “So, you’re empty-handed then? Oooh, Jelani one, Lukas zero!” He let out a hearty laugh and Lukas just rolled his eyes.

 

            Truthfully Lukas did have something for her, though Jelani’s much lovelier gift made him second-guess it. During his time at school, he rediscovered his passion for literature and art. So he bared his soul and wrote a poem for her, spilled his guts and bled his heart through ink on a page.

 

            This page was folded up in his pocket, a humble scrap of notebook paper that he knew wouldn’t get a second glance from Moswen. She would only regard it as trash. And perhaps it _was_ , Lukas considered more and more as they got closer to home.

 

            Before long, the dragon touched down in Uekoro just outside the palace. Attendants rushed up to take their luggage—two weeks’ worth of clothes and toiletries. Two weeks for the twins to visit their deteriorating father, to be berated by their mother, and finally see Itanya’s face after a whole long year.

 

            There was a feast in the twins’ honor when they arrived. There were plenty of dishes, hugs, and greetings to go around. Lukas weaved through the crowd, circling the dining hall again and again. He saw his brother showing off his muscles to the guards. He saw an attendant chewing up Ekwame’s food for him. He saw Moswen shooing begging mongrels away from the guests.

 

            But Itanya was nowhere to be seen. Only a couple of the slaves were present, cleaning and gathering soiled dishes behind people. Moswen likely didn’t invite her to such a fine function. So when the hours passed and it was finally over, Lukas sneaked off to the basement level for answers.

 

            As he approached the door to the slaves’ quarters, he saw Jelani coming down the hall from the other direction. The two stopped beside the door, exchanging silent expressions. Lukas’ of confusion and Jelani’s of irritation. A feeling of nostalgia was striking both of them. “I can’t find her,” Lukas said simply.

 

            His brother replied, “Me either. But you have nothing to offer her, so get lost.” Lukas furrowed his brow.

“Says who?”

“Says your empty hands. So leave.” Jelani gave him a little shove. Lukas was quick to shove him back, though Jelani and his bulk hardly budged.

 

            They bickered in the hall for several minutes, nearly escalating to flying fists until the door creaked open. Silence fell over the two as they turned to the face peeking up at them. It was an elfin—a young elven boy—and one they did not recognize.

 

            Their parents must have bought him while they were away, they figured. But why? Moswen hated extra staff, especially lowly slaves, running about and getting under foot. She didn’t like to buy another unless one died. One of the older ones must have finally dropped, Lukas thought solemnly.

 

            The elfin peeped at them, “’Scuse me! Please don’t fight so loud, okay? We’re sleeping.” Jelani and Lukas exchanged glances, then Jelani spoke to the child. “You, Kid. Do you know where Itanya is?”

 

            The elfin furrowed his thin brows. “Itanya? Who’s that?” he asked. In that instant, Lukas’ stomach dropped.

Jelani clarified, “Itanya! She’s a servant? Pretty little elfenne, black hair, one eye? She has a gap in her teeth. You’ve surely seen her.”

 

            The boy screwed up his face in thought. After a moment, he closed his eyes and shook his head. “Sorry. I’ve been here for almost a year and I never saw anyone like that,” he said. The world blurred behind Lukas’ eyes. He stumbled, back hitting the wall.

Jelani turned to him and barked, “What’s going on here?”

 

            “Come on,” grunted Lukas, and in a flash he was bolting up the stairs. Jelani followed close behind, up the stairway, down the corridors, and straight into the throne room. There Moswen sat on her grand throne with a goblet of palm wine. Ekwame usually occupied the throne beside her, but it was empty this evening as he lie sick in bed.

 

            The room was otherwise barren as it always had been this time of day, when Moswen liked to be alone to unwind. She was pouring herself more wine, nearly spilling it when the double-doors crashed open. Her sons barged in and sprinted down the fine runner.

 

            They stopped, out of breath before her. Moswen regarded them with her usual dull, stoic expression and a heavy silence. “What,” Lukas panted, “did you _do_? Where is Itanya?”

 

            Moswen stared them down, taking her time as she sipped from her goblet. Jelani clenched his teeth, Lukas balling his fists at his sides. Finishing the glass, Moswen let out a satisfied exhale. Her gaze drifted to the empty drink as she explained nonchalantly, “I tired of her. So she is gone.”

 

            “What?” barked Jelani, stepping forward with Lukas.

Lukas asked sharply, “What do you mean? Where is she?”

Moswen leaned back in her seat, resting the goblet on its smooth mahogany arm. “You shouldn’t worry yourselves over it. She was only a servant. They’re replaceable, expendable…” She waved her hand dismissively. “There are a million others just like her.”

 

            “Mom,” Lukas growled through clenched teeth. “Where. Is. She?” His fists trembled at his sides, stomach churning like a storm at sea. Moswen glared back at him for what felt like forever. Finally, she slid a big ruby ring off her finger and tossed it to them. Jelani swiped it out of the air, examining it in his palm.

 

            “A troop of Kaconenans passed through shortly after you left,” said Moswen. “With you two gone and your father so ill, I did what I had to in order to keep the peace.”

“You traded her to Kaconenans?” Lukas’ wail echoed off the grand ceiling. “For what, that stupid ring?”

 

            Moswen stood up and suddenly shouted, “Lukas Zawadi Fanaka! How dare you vilify me for keeping our people safe! I managed to reach a deal with those roving cutthroats without a drop of bloodshed—Something you nor your worthless father could ever achieve!”

 

            “Why her?” Lukas shouted back. “All our riches, and you choose to hand over a _person_? You’ve hated Itanya her whole life when she’s done nothing to slight you! Why? What could she possibly have done to you?”

 

            His mother’s teeth pressed together, hissing through them in the intense way she did. She replied, “It is not what she’s done to me, but what she’s done to _you_. You think me feeble-minded? I see the way you look at her, all the times you’ve disappeared with her, and don’t think I haven’t noticed the fake key around my neck!”

 

            Moswen wrenched the necklace off and gave it a shake, throwing it to the floor. She continued, “You are a prince, Lukas! And I shall be damned before I allow a filthy little servant rule Uekoro by your side! You’ve been under her wicked spell for years, and one day when you sit upon this throne, you will look back and appreciate what I’ve done for you and our people.”

 

            Lukas stepped back, eyes squeezing shut. He shook his dizzy head. This couldn’t be. This couldn’t be happening. He would never see Itanya again. His best friend, his first and only love, was truly gone forever.

 

            Jelani clutched the ring in his trembling fist. He opened his mouth to speak. Then, he shook his head and let out a loud growl instead, storming off towards the door. Crystal busts of his mother and father sat upon pedestals by the exit. He slapped Moswen’s likeness as he left and it shattered into glittering shards against the tiles.

 

            Moswen glared with wide eyes. Then her fierce gaze flicked back to Lukas, still standing before her. He swallowed back tears, words strained as he told her, “I will never appreciate you. And I will never forgive you. You’re a despicable queen and an even worse mother!”

 

            A wrinkle carved itself between his brows. “You’re the most vile, sadistic, sorriest excuse for a person I’ve ever met and I’m ashamed to share your blood! If ruling Uekoro means becoming anything like you, I’d rather die in exile!” With that, Lukas turned and stormed towards the exit.

 

            Moswen’s whole body quaked as she screamed after him, “And you are a weak, sniveling, failure of a son and a pathetic excuse for a king! Go, make a fool of yourself and your people yet again! It is hardly the first time and I know it shall not be the last!”

 

            Lukas’ boots crunched over the crystal shards as he passed, then he slammed the door behind him. The heavy bang echoed off the tall walls of the barren throne room.

 

*

 

            Lukas paced about his old bedroom. Not a thing was changed since he left for school. Jelani sat on his bed, staring pensively at the ruby ring in his palm. The brothers couldn’t let this go, couldn’t move on with their lives if they tried knowing Itanya was being dragged around the Midlands by an army of glorified bandits.

 

            The Kaconenans had been an infamous thorn in Matuzu Kingdom’s side for centuries. They called themselves a “tribe”, though their many settlements stretched far and wide and were always on the move. Known mostly for slaving and pillaging, the Kaconenans spread their savagery like wildfire from the backs of enchanted zebras.

 

            Getting Itanya back wasn’t likely, not without a fight or a large sum of gold. The brothers would need a few good men on their side and Lukas had no one in his corner except Jelani. Jelani, however, finally had an idea. His eyebrows shot up and he gasped, “My squadron!”

 

            Lukas stopped pacing and turned to him. Jelani elaborated, “I’m the captain of my team from military school. Those men would follow me through Lostland and back!”

Lukas quirked an eyebrow, unconvinced. He queried, “You _really_ think they would spend their vacation running around a hot, bandit-infested savannah just because you asked nicely?”

 

            With a smirk, Jelani held up the ring. “They’ve got incentive. A little booze money goes far with those guys, and don’t think they wouldn’t jump at the chance to see some real action.”

 

            The doubt still burdened his brother’s face. Jelani stood up and clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Look,” he began, “while you had your nose in a book, I was building connections. We don’t have to do this alone. I’ll get some messages out, then we’ll raid the armory and find her.”

 

            He squeezed Lukas’ shoulder, tipped his head to look into his downcast eyes. “We owe it to Itanya to _try_. Don’t think her suffering didn’t pain me too. It weighs heavy on my soul and it’s a weight I cannot bear no matter how the military hardens me. We can do this, Lukas.”

 

            Lukas paused in thought. After some time, he nodded slightly and let out a long sigh. “See who you can round up,” he said. “I’ll try to get my hands on more gold.”

 

*

 

            Over the next couple days, the Fanaka brothers put their best skills to use in order to build their battalion. Lukas crept around the palace, pilfering small yet valuable items before sneaking entire weapon sets from the armory. The guards were baffled. Only someone who knew their patrol schedules by heart could have pulled off such a crime, so they were quick to point fingers at eachother long before their own prince.

 

            Meanwhile, Jelani sent messengers to contact his friends in Matuzu Capital. Lured by promises of riches, booze, and adventure, eighteen of his military school buddies showed up at the designated meeting spot in Uekoro. This spot was an unsuspecting inn on the outskirts of the village, and once the brothers had their affairs in order, they stole ten okapi from the royal stable and headed there themselves to meet their team in the middle of the night.

 

            Of course guards noticed the line of okapi being led outside the grounds. The brothers told them not to question it and assured them they would return soon. It wouldn’t be long before their story fell apart, so once they arrived at the inn, the squadron was quick to pack their things and leave for the savannah that night.

 

            Lukas nor Jelani had never set foot outside their microcosm of the Midland Jungle. Some of Jelani’s more worldly friends helped to guide them, taught the brothers to survive in the wilderness when they’d known nothing but civilized society. They moved under the hot sun for days, camping under the stars each night.

 

            They hit every settlement they passed and questioned the locals about recent Kaconenan trouble. There was always a story no matter who they asked. A person kidnapped last month, a neighborhood pillaged last week, a deal gone awry yesterday. By the sound of it, the tribe was a striped wave of chaos that plagued Matuzu’s rural community the most.

 

            So why had they even bothered coming to Uekoro? They were told Kaconenan territory didn’t pass the savannah because their zebras struggled over the jungle terrain. Besides that, Uekoro was too large a threat for their raiding parties. Lukas was doubting more and more that they had come on their own volition.

 

            Moswen’s story was full of holes. With any luck, they would get to the bottom of this, find Itanya and the truth in the same place. They had to cover ground quickly before they ran out of resources, before their squadron abandoned them to return to school, before they were caught by their own people.

 

            Their mother was surely looking for them, likely sent the whole military on a search by now. And when she found them, well…The brothers would rather be found by Kaconenans.

 

            Nine days into their journey, exactly that occurred.

 

            Lukas had been plagued by insomnia ever since Itanya’s disappearance, so yet again he lie awake while the rest of the squadron slept. He noticed a deathly quiescence, then a sound like distant thunder. But the night sky was clear and peppered with twinkling stars, not a cloud to be seen.

 

            He pushed his way out of the tent, saw a giant plume of dust rising on the horizon. Something was coming towards them, something massive and thunderous, louder and louder as it advanced. Lukas scrambled back into the tent, a soldier grunting as he tripped over them.

 

            Snatching a scope from Jelani’s bag, he ran back outside and held it up to his eye, adjusted the lens until the figure came into focus. A wave of white stripes was fast approaching, zebras with glowing green eyes and jockeys on their backs. The jockeys appeared fae with their skin in shades of greenish-gold and bronze. They were clad in monochrome loin cloths, beads, bones, and war paint.

 

            Each of their faces were obscured by masks resembling abstract zebra heads, painted white on the right and black on the left. Though he had never seen one in person, Lukas knew without a shadow of a doubt that these were Kaconenans. Their flair was much too unique to mistake them for any other faction on Looming Gaia.

 

            “Wake up! Everyone wake up!” shouted Lukas. He stumbled over the sleeping squadron, shaking their shoulders until they were on their feet. “Kaconenans on the horizon, they’re coming this way!” he warned, gesturing to the wide shadow expanding before them.

 

            Already half-suited for the occasion, the brothers’ soldiers grabbed their weapons, slipped on the rest of their armor, and they were battle-ready just as the horde of zebra jockeys arrived. The ground vibrated under so many hooves, the herd splitting and surrounding the camp in a stomping, whooping circle.

 

            The soldiers formed a circle of their own, facing the Kaconenans from every direction. Lukas and Jelani stood together with their bow and sword drawn respectively. The zebras’ glowing eyes pierced the darkness like fireflies. The beasts swayed and jerked unnaturally, as if puppeteered by some unseen force.

 

            Lukas’ heart hammered in his chest. All this time he’d been searching for exactly this, but now that he’d found it, he felt his whole plan had gone awry. The okapi were spooked, crying out and pulling at their stakes. A few zebra-jockeys dismounted and took the okapi by the reigns, leading them away into their group.

 

            “Hey, hey!” barked Jelani. “Those animals are property of Uekoro! We are the Fa—” Before he could say anymore, Lukas jabbed his elbow hard into his brother’s ribs.

Jelani sputtered and Lukas whispered in his ear, “We’re nobodies. Shut up and let me talk.”

 

            The circle of Kaconenans rippled, parting for an individual wearing a bright red shawl upon his lean, golden body all marked with tattoos. He was likely elven, with little braids in his long crimson hair. Unlike the basic masks of the others, his was embellished with plates of gold.

 

            This figure rode up on a zebra with a mane of bead extensions. Lukas could only assume this was a person of high-rank and probably the one he should speak to first. He cleared his throat and began, “Excuse us, we mean you no harm! We’re looking for an elfenne from Uekoro. Her name is Itanya. She has one eye and a gap in her teeth. Please, can you tell us if you’ve seen her?”

 

            A low chatter rumbled from the Kaconenans as they exchanged looks behind their masks. Most of them were wielding spears and staffs, occasionally pointing them at the soldiers. One of Jelani’s friends whispered to Lukas, “Just say the word and we’ll attack.”

 

            A peaceful solution was preferable to Lukas, as no matter how tough these soldiers were, they were still outnumbered three times over. He didn’t want to lose anyone. He just wanted his friend back. Once he finished quietly consulting with the group, the elf with the ornate mask turned back to Lukas.

In a bluntly-accented voice, he said, “She was mistreated in Uekoro. For what reason would she return?”

 

            The Fanaka brothers’ eyebrows jumped, jaws falling slack as they turned to one another. “So you do know her!” cried Jelani.

Lukas gave him a shove, reminding him to stay quiet and told the elf, “She won’t be going back there! I mean—” He bit his tongue, chose his next words carefully. Outing themselves as royalty was a bad move.

 

            He sighed, “Look. Itanya’s a very dear friend of ours. We don’t have much, but we’ll give you anything you ask in exchange for her freedom. Please. We’ve been missing her for almost a year.”

 

            The elf turned back to the other Kaconenans. They muttered back and forth again. Then, he told Lukas, “Humans are liars. I cannot trust your words. However,” he held up his long, slender index finger, “I will take you to Lady Itanya herself for judgment. Should she prove your lies…”

 

            He dragged his finger horizontally across his throat and said no more. With that, he let out a sharp whistle and a few jockeys dismounted their zebras. They approached the soldiers with ropes and began to bind their wrists together. The soldiers protested, looking to Lukas and Jelani for answers.

 

            “It’s okay,” Lukas assured them, “this is perfect! Itanya will get us out of this, and I promise you’ll be back at school before our vacation ends. Just play along.” Though reluctant, the soldiers put their faith in him and allowed themselves to be bound, allowed their weapons and supplies to be carried away, and followed the Kaconenans across the savannah.

 

*

 

            Lukas learned a great deal by eavesdropping on the long journey to the Kaconenan’s camp. The elf with the fancy mask was called Chief Aadru and he was the leader of this particular branch of the tribe. There were apparently hundreds of branches spread out all over the vast savannah, some with a handful individuals and others with hundreds.

 

            These zebra-mounted war parties were a male-only affair. Women were kept at the camps but not necessarily out of battle. They were left for defense in case one of Matuzu’s battalions showed up to clean them off the map. It was why they kept moving, to elude the kingdom’s grasp and pillage the next village.

 

            The camp was unlike any place the Fanaka brothers had ever seen. Lined up in organic rows were round homes on wheels, structured from elephant bones and insulated by hides of all kinds. A large fire pit marked the center of the makeshift village with racks of meat smoking over the flames.

 

            A few dozen heads of wildebeest grazed freely with symbols branded into their flesh and bone rings pierced through their nostrils. Female fae—elves, goblins, and the odd nymph—meandered about in minimal clothing, some with babies on their hips and children at their feet.

 

            Unlike the war party, the women did not wear masks, though each one was visibly armed with a weapon as if they expected conflict at any moment. The sun was just coming up and Lukas spent all night walking, yet he was more wide-awake than ever. His body was in agony but his heart thumped against his ribs.

 

            This was it. He was finally going to see Itanya. And once this mess was settled, they would get her out of here and run away together like they always dreamed. Jelani could come too, he supposed, if only to get away from Moswen. But Lukas knew in his heart that _he_ was the one Itanya loved, and it would be him she would spend the rest of her life with.

 

            The war party led the Fanaka’s squadron to a large mobile tent near the center of the camp. Jelani’s friends were made to wait outside while Chief Aadru took the brothers inside. The walls curved upward, structured from elephant ribcages. The floor was a wooden base with spotted cheetah pelt rugs strewn about.

 

            Also strewn about were cups of ivory and bowls made from distinctly human skulls. Corked bottles of palm wine were stacked on a collapsible shelf, a paper lantern with a magic orb inside sitting nearby which illuminated the tent in a warm glow. Sitting on a pillow in the center of it all was an elfenne dressed in a fine, beaded red sarong with a matching top.

 

            Her left eye was covered by an ornate eyepatch. It was made of tiny bone beads hanging from lengths of string which extended down to her cheek. Her right eye flicked up at the brothers, green and bright in the dimness of the tent, and a wide gap-toothed smile spread across her face.

 

            The brothers froze in place, in utter disbelief that they had found her. They had actually found her! Though her hair was cropped close to her head, though they had never seen her wear anything finer than ragged cotton, though she was plumper and her face was marked by tattoos, there was no mistaking Itanya’s smile.

 

            Chief Aadru stepped ahead of the twins and kneeled on the pillow beside her. He took her tattooed hands in his as he spoke. “We have returned without bloodshed. The ‘threat’ was nothing more than these fools and their search party…” He gestured to Lukas and Jelani, standing before him with frozen bodies and wide eyes.

 

            The chief’s eyes narrowed behind his mask and he continued, “…Or so they claim. They also claim to be friends of yours. I will do away with them if you wish, _Amra_.”

 

            Itanya’s eye was fixated on the brothers as he spoke, looking as if she hadn’t heard a word he said. She rose to her feet and stepped towards them with her arms outstretched. She pulled them both into a hug and tears immediately spilled down her face. She sobbed between their chests and squeezed them harder. Gods, but they wanted to embrace her back, but their hands were still bound.

 

            Chief Aadru lifted his mask onto his head, exposing a long elven face marred by scars and accented with tattoos. His earlobes were stretched low by heavy gold rings, with a smaller gold ring hanging from the bridge of his nose. He looked on with his eyebrows quirked in confusion.

 

            “I thought I’d never see you again!” cried Itanya. She withdrew, dragging her palms over the sides of her face to dry them as she smiled at the brothers. Her eye flicked up and down, from their heads to their toes. “Oh, the gods, you both look so different!”

 

            “We could say the same!” Jelani told her breathlessly.

Itanya turned back to Chief Aadru and said, “Addie, please untie them! These are very dear friends of mine. They are—” She held her tongue for a fraction of a second as her eyes flicked to Lukas. He shot her a worried glance back.

 

            She knew better than to identify them and he was thankful. She continued, “Uh, Lu and Jelly. I assure you they’re as harmless as the breeze.” The chief hesitated, then he got up with a grunt. He drew a dagger from his hip as he approached them. The brothers tensed up, feeling he may cut their throats. But all he cut was their binds.

 

            They rubbed their aching wrists, faces blanching as Chief Aadru turned back to Itanya and planted a passionate kiss on her lips. She kissed him back, patted the side of his face with a smile. She said, “Please, may I have a moment alone with them? I haven’t seen them in so long, I must know the news from Uekoro.”

 

            The chief looked skeptical. Still, he nodded and obeyed, heading towards the opening flap of the tent. “I will not be far,” he told them, fixating his gaze on the brothers. “If there is but one scratch upon her when I return, I will gut you like pigs. Mind yourselves.” With that, he was gone.

 

            Itanya returned to her pillow and patted the additional cushions before her. The Fanaka brothers shared a glance, then cautiously made their way over. They sat down and all the weight of the journey suddenly hit their exhausted bodies at once. They felt as if they would turn to slime and ooze into the floorboards, but they kept themselves awake and upright for Itanya’s sake.

 

            She took one of each of their hands in her own and smiled. She said, “Years ago when I lost my eye, Dr. Asha told me she had a vision. That one day I would run free under open skies. It made me angry. I thought it couldn’t be true, just a trick to help me feel better.” She shook her head, still wearing her gapped smile.

 

            “The day Moswen sold me to the Kaconenans, I was filled with fear because for all her cruelty, she was the devil I knew, and I lamented that I would never say goodbye to you. I thought—for all the rumors of terror and savagery—that life would become so much worse.”

 

            Itanya spread her arms, gestured to the space around her. “Yet here I am! Finally a free elfenne, just like Dr. Asha said! And best of all, here you are before me. This is the happiest day of my life!” she giggled and dropped her forehead against their hands.

 

            Lukas began to speak, but Jelani spoke over him. “So you are not a slave here?” He tilted his head towards the doorway. “The chief is your, uh…?”

“My husband,” Itanya said, brows sagging sheepishly.

 

            She explained, “Moswen said she was sick of me, so she contacted the Kaconenans and offered me for nothing at all. But Aadru exchanged—some little trinket, I don’t remember. He told me it was a just peace offering, showing her that the Kaconenans wished to be on good terms with Uekoro.”

 

            Lukas frowned. So Moswen lied to save face. He couldn’t say he was surprised, not even slightly. Itanya continued with a shrug, “Anyway, they asked me to bend the will of a zebra and I just wasn’t strong enough. But I was able to calm Aadru’s steed by talkiing with it instead, and I guess that was kind of a big deal. He asked my hand that day and…How could I say ‘no’?”

 

            “He married you just for that?” queried Jelani. “So it’s a sham! He does not love you, he married you for power!”

Itanya replied, “Don’t say that! You hardly know him. Addie’s not a cruel person—not to me. He treats me like royalty and he sees to it everyone else does too.”

 

            Folding her hands over her heart, she continued, “Guys, I finally feel like I’m _worth_ something. Back when we were kids, when we would sneak out to play, it was the only time I felt like a person because you treated me like one. Now I get to feel like that all the time!”

 

            “Itanya,” began Lukas, voice cracked and weary, “the Kaconenans are _bandits_. They kill, they rape, they pillage everything they can take on! We are going to get you out of here. We’ll steal a couple of these zebras and ride away to Yerim-Mor Kingdom where—”

 

            Itanya frowned and shook her head. “Lu, you’re not listening! I don’t want to leave. I’m _happy_ here with the Kaconenans, with Aadru, my new friends and my little home. We travel all around the savannah and oh, the beautiful things we see!” A wistful smile crossed her face.

 

            Jelani narrowed his eyes when he spat, “Is that so? Because we travelled in your peoples’ wake and saw nothing but carnage and suffering. Is that beautiful to you?”

“Brother—” Lukas raised a hand at him.

 

            Itanya’s smile quickly gave way to a scowl. She stared hard at Jelani. “How can you ask me that?” she queried sharply. “Was it _beautiful_ when you watched your mother beat me senseless? Was it _beautiful_ when she gouged my eye from my skull? You were in no position to stop her, but it was something you were willing to bear for your survival. Am I wrong?”

 

            “Yes, you are!” barked Jelani. “We didn’t cow to our mother for _our_ survival, it was for _yours_! Everything we ever did, Itanya, it was for your sake! We suffered by your side under the same tyranny, and now you’ve gone and--and married a ruthless warlord!”

 

            “And what do you expect me to do?” asked Itanya, the patience in her tone ever thinning.

Jelani answered, “I expect you to come with us, away from these cretins! After all we’ve been through, after all the blood, sweat, and tears I’ve shed for you…”

 

            His voice escalated into a growl, pounding a fist against his heart. “…after I risked my life, abandoned my whole family and my kingdom just to find you, you choose that savage murderer over me! Why, after all that, do you still not love me?”

 

            Itanya recoiled, tilted her head in bewilderment. “Jelani…Every time you invited me to sneak out with you, I did it even knowing I would suffer for it. And you think I don’t love you?” She lowered her black brows, eye flicking briefly to Lukas.

 

            “I love both of you dearly, more than words can say!” She paused, then let out a sigh. “But these are different times and very different circumstances. I’m no longer a slave, I’m a free person now.” Itanya balled her hands and turned her wrists over, exposing the ring of burn scars around them.

 

            She went on, “For once in my life, I’m allowed to make my own decisions and forge my own path. This is what I’ve chosen. I don’t need to justify myself. I am _happy_. If you truly loved me, you would be happy for me too.”

 

            Jelani scowled at the floor for a long moment. The silence was thick and oppressive, hanging in the air like smog. Lukas’ eyes flicked between the two, then finally, Jelani reached into his pocket and pulled something out. He slammed it on the floor before Itanya and stood up.

 

            It was the little music box, its once shiny gold plating smeared with savannah dust. “You don’t know what’s good for you,” Jelani told her flatly. “You can say you’re ‘free’ all you want. But you are still a slave at heart, because you hunger for the attention of those who only wish to use you. You don’t know what love is and you never will, for I no longer want anything to do with you!”

 

            He stepped towards the door and barked to Lukas, “Come on, Brother! She is ‘happy’, so we can rest easy now, can’t we? Knowing she’s 'safe’ in the gentle hands of that bloodthirsty pillager! Let’s go. We’ve wasted enough time in this godforsaken place.”

 

            “Wait,” said Lukas, staggering to his feet. He turned back to Itanya. “When I left Uekoro to find you, I had no intention of going back. I have no desire to return any more than you do. Fleeing to Yerim-Mor is my second choice. But my first, Itanya, is to stay with you.”

 

            He took her hand and continued, “I still love you. No matter how you feel about me, I just want to know you’re safe and happy. Please, may I be part of your life again?” Jelani looked on, eyes rounding, brow above hardened in anger.

 

            Itanya floundered for a few seconds before she replied, “Lukas, I don’t…I mean…I’m sure you’ve noticed the Kaconenans are purely a fae society. A human like you, well…If I could convince Aadru not to kill you, you would only be a slave. Trust me, that is not a life you want to live.”

 

            “I’d be no less of a slave here than I’d be in Uekoro,” he told her. “My whole life as a king has already been decided for me. I never wanted a thing to do with the throne or the politics. All I ever wanted was to be with you. The circumstances, they don’t matter to me. When we were together, I was happy. And when we grew apart I felt nothing but misery.”

 

            Itanya’s expression sagged. She shook her head and muttered, “Lu…”

“Please,” he said, giving her hands a squeeze. “Let me stay. It would make me happy.”

 

            Another silence fell between them. Jelani glared at his brother, shook his head in disbelief and grumbled, “You’re both pathetic,” before storming out of the tent.

 

*

 

            When all was said and done, Chief Aadru agreed to let Jelani and his friends go…Just not with everything they arrived with.

 

            The chief surrendered only three of their okapi and just enough supplies to make it back to Uekoro. Had he known Jelani was related to the royal family he likely would have returned everything, though Lukas nor Jelani were willing to out themselves. As his soldier-friends packed their scant bags onto their mounts, Jelani approached his brother one last time.

 

            “For the ‘smarter’ of us, you’re making the most foolish decision of your life,” he told him.

Lukas rolled his eyes and shrugged. “I don’t see why you’re complaining,” he replied. “Tell our dear old mother I’m dead and the crown will be passed to you. Isn’t that what you wanted? To be king?” There was the slightest edge of bitterness in his voice.

 

            Jelani scowled and planted his hands on Lukas’ shoulders. He rumbled, “I want the people I love most to stop making ruins of their lives! Today I have lost Itanya _and_ my brother, and I am soon to lose my father as well. If I return to Uekoro, I will have nothing but a heavy crown and a wicked mother. Why are you doing this to me?”

 

            “You’re doing this to yourself, Jelani. Why not send your friends home and stay with us? Otherwise, run off to Yerim-Mor lands. I’m not forcing your hand either way.”

“Brother, listen to yourself!” Jelani gave Lukas’ shoulder a rough shake. “You really want to be part of this evil, this chaos?”

 

            Brushing Jelani’s hands away, Lukas dropped his gaze and shook his head. After a pause, he replied, “I just want to be with Itanya. I _love_ her, Jelani. She means everything to me.”

 

            Jelani tilted his head, looked at his little-big brother for a long moment. “So she does,” he finally sighed. He pulled Lukas into a tight hug, patted his back much too hard. Lukas returned the hug with a defeated, doleful frown. “I hope you come to your senses someday, Lukas,” said Jelani.

 

            Lukas patted his back and withdrew. “You too,” he replied quietly. In that moment, Chief Aadru strode up with a long staff in his hands. It was tipped with a red crystal. Itanya followed close behind. He tapped Jelani on the back with it and pointed to his waiting soldiers.

 

            The chief said, “Move on now. Do not stop until you pass over the horizon, or we shall come chase you the rest of the way. By leaving this camp, you are no longer under my protection. So do not cry to me for help if you are captured by another branch of Kaconenans.”

 

            “Wasn’t counting on it,” mumbled Jelani. He slapped the staff away and trudged off to his group. He slung his leg over an okapi, already burdened with luggage, and took one last look at Lukas and Itanya. The burning anger on his face had melted down into hurt. Then, he was riding off towards the gold horizon.

  

*

 

            A couple days passed before the Kaconenans were on the move again. Lukas was mesmerized by how fast they could get an entire village packed and mobile. The tents converted into zebra-drawn wagons, everything inside tied down and shut away in under an hour.

 

            Lukas watched the Kaconenans rush this way and that until Chief Aadru shoved a crude broom in his hands. “Follow us,” the chief instructed, “and sweep away any tracks. If we are followed, it’s your head.” Lukas silently obeyed.

 

            The wagons began to move in two straight lines. The Kaconenans rode inside them while the Lukas and the other five human slaves lagged behind with brooms. He was beginning to understand why they had so much trouble tracking these people. As destructive as they were, they were also cautious and clever.

 

            Like the others in his position, Lukas wore a copper collar around his neck. During the day he was free to roam under the watchful eye of his masters, but at night they chained him to the slave’s wagon. Not that he would try to escape. He had burned all his bridges and there was nowhere left to go.

 

            One slow, plodding month went by. During that time, Chief Aadru’s tribe relocated four times, razed some small villages, enslaved various peoples and sold them off to other Kaconenan branches. They made a hefty sum of gold and rolled through a Yerim-Mor settlement called Kandul for supplies.

 

            Chief Aadru and his best warriors visited Kandul’s tavern just before sundown, celebrating their wealth with round after round of alcohol. Itanya was the only woman permitted to join them, but she declined and opted to stay in their encampment just outside town.

 

            It was one of the few opportunities she got to be alone with Lukas. She invited her old friend into her tent, offered him food and drink as they simply lounged together under the magic lantern. Itanya laid back against a stack of pillows, winding the little gold music box.

 

            She watched the ivory tembo rotate along to the chiming tune. When the song ended, she let out a hard sigh and closed her eyes, snapping the device shut in her palm. Lukas hesitated before he spoke. “I’m sorry about Jelani. He was pig-headed. Always has been,” he said. It was the first time he mentioned his brother since his leaving.

 

            Itanya’s face scrunched up in something like pain. Lukas feared it was too soon, that he’d struck a sore spot. Her eyes opened and she told him in a dull tone, “It’s not his fault. He was never made to grow up. Not like we were. I just hope he’s alright, that’s all.”

 

            “I’m know he is,” Lukas assured her. “He’s an idiot, but he’s the toughest idiot I know. I bet he’s hustling people in Yerim-More Capital as we speak. Probably betting on his strength, and probably winning too.” A sad little smile crossed Itanya’s lips as he spoke.

 

            A bowl of sugar-coated locusts sat on the floor between them. Lukas popped one into his mouth, crispy and gritty but so sweet. He sputtered, nearly choked when Itanya turned to him and said, “If you want to escape and run off to the Capital, well…This would be the perfect time.”

 

            “Why would I do that?” Lukas spoke over the bug, grains of sugar flying from his mouth. Itanya took his hand. She stretched out his arm and gestured to the cuts and bruises marring his skin.

“Lukas,” she said, “why _wouldn’t_ you? You work your hands to the bone around here, and Aadru is so unkind to you…”

 

            Lukas clasped both of his hands over hers. “That doesn’t matter. It’s moments like this, when we’re together, that make all that worth it. I’m not going anywhere unless you’re by my side. That’s the end of it.”

 

            Itanya closed her eyes again, weariness all over her face. She reached into the bowl and bit a locust in half. After chewing the bite a little too long, she said, “There are people more worthy of your love than I, Lu.”

Lukas shrugged. “Well, I haven’t met them yet. No one else makes me happy, Itanya. If anything, people just—They’re too much. They’re irritating.”

 

            “But not I?”

“Far from it. You’ve been my best friend my entire life.” Lukas absently picked at a hangnail and mumbled on, “I mean, you’ve been my _only_ friend. I’ve never been very good at that, getting along with people. That was always Jelani’s strength. I hated him for it.”

 

            He glanced over at the elfenne, staring right back at him. She opened her mouth to speak, then startled upright and knocked over the bowl of locusts as laughter swelled from outside. It was loud and masculine, from numerous people. The warriors were back.

 

            “Already?” hissed Itanya, scrambling to scoop up the locusts and placing the bowl on the shelf. Lukas quickly corked the wine and shoved the bottle in the wicker trunk where he found it. He shot to his feet and peeked outside the opening flap with Itanya. There was Aadru, laughing and waving goodbye to his soldiers as he approached the tent.

 

            His footsteps creaked up the ramp to the wooden platform. He was too close, there was no escape. “Hide!” Itanya whispered, and she shoved Lukas towards the big wicker trunk. A less flexible man would have never fit, but Lukas had a lifetime of agility training on his side.

 

            There were clothes inside. He tossed them onto the floor to make more room, stepped inside the trunk and folded his body forward. The bottle of wine was tucked between his knees. Itanya slammed it shut just as Aadru stumbled in. There was still about an inch left open, so she sat on the lid to close it and Lukas tried not to grunt in pain.

 

            “Addie!” the elfenne exclaimed, folding her hands atop her knees. She offered a smile, though her eye was wide with anxiety. “I was just tidying up. Y-you’re back so early. What happened?”

 

            Lukas could just barely see through the tiny holes in the wicker. He peeked out at Aadru, standing by the doorway with a slight wobble to his posture. The stench of spiced alcohol wafted from him and his speech was slurred when he told his wife, “One of the men picked a fight. Barkeep threw us out…”

 

            He pulled the tie from his ponytail. Long red hair spilled loose and free over his shoulders. The movement nearly pushed him off-balance and he leaned on the wall for support. “…Matters s’not! We will burn the place down come mornin’, teach’im to disrespect us so!”

 

            Pushing himself upright from the wall, Aadru staggered towards Itanya. He slipped his hands under her armpits and pulled her off of the trunk as he grumbled, “Still have wine in’ere somewhere…” Lukas’ heart was pounding so hard, he worried that the chief would hear it.

 

            “Wait!” Itanya stepped between her husband and the trunk. Wrapping her arms about his waist, she pushed him back a couple steps. “I feel you’ve had enough to drink.”

Chief Aadru clutched her to stabilize himself. His eyes blinked separately as he slurred, “S’not your place to decide my limits, _Amra_.”

 

            “No,” Itanya said delicately, clutching the front of his beaded shawl to pull him down to the bed with her, “but if you’re too drunk, how will you make love to me?” Behind the wicker, Lukas’ eyebrows jumped. He didn’t expect the sudden pain in his chest or the sinking feeling in his gut.

 

            A lazy, intoxicated smirk spread across Aadru’s lips. “Hmm. You make a compelling point,” he slurred, nearly falling on his face as he rolled over top of her. His back was facing Lukas, but the Fanaka son could see Itanya peeking at him over her husband’s shoulder.

 

            Lukas cracked the lid open just slightly, shooting Itanya a questioning look. She wrapped her legs around Aadru’s waist, keeping him in place as he struggled to tug down his cotton pants. She raised her eyebrows at Lukas, grit her teeth and made a quick waving motion towards the doorway.

 

            There was a moment of hesitation. Lukas’ eyes scanned the interior and looked for a weapon. A jealous, primal part of him craved Aadru’s blood and this would be the perfect opportunity for a smooth kill. That was something Jelani would do, he realized, and he liked to think he was above hurting Itanya for his own satisfaction.

 

            Lukas shook the thought from his head and slowly, carefully lifted the lid of the trunk. It creaked on its hinges and he winced, but Aadru was apparently too drunk and preoccupied to notice. The chief was still fumbling around, Itanya holding him tightly, kissing him, doing everything in her power to keep him from turning his head.

 

            Lukas stood up and cautiously stepped out of the trunk. If there was one thing he excelled at, it was sneaking around unnoticed. Minding his footfalls on any creaky floorboards, he edged around the darkest shadows until he reached the doorway. The flap made no sound, but the sudden light pouring in would draw attention.

 

            He would have to be quick. Lukas bent his knees, then sprang forward on his heels and bolted out of the doorway in a flash. The leather flap rippled in his wake and quickly settled back in place. Aadru’s reaction was a bit delayed, but he did squint in the sudden light and turned to the door.

 

            “What was’sat?” he mumbled. _Just a breeze_ , Itanya wanted to say, but fae could never tell an untruth. Instead, she remained silent and pulled him into another kiss. He quickly forgot all about it while just outside, Lukas sprinted across the camp as if a tiger’s breath was on his back.

 

            He slowed to a stop at the slaves’ tent, doubling over to catch his breath. When he stood upright he noticed several pairs of Kaconenan eyes staring at him. Perhaps the chief hadn’t seen him, but his people had just witnessed a lowly slave scrambling out of his wife’s tent at sundown.

 

            Lukas swallowed the bile in his throat, mopping his sweaty brow with the end of his shirt as he meandered into his quarters. Soon someone would be coming to chain him down for the night and he prayed they wouldn’t have questions.

 

*

 

            Another day came and went.

 

            The morning was uneventful. It was the same old routine: Lukas was awoken with a kick, handed a pile of laundry and soiled dishes, made to repair creaky wagons, and so on. Water rations were low, it seemed. It was always something.

 

            Lukas thought he was off the hook until he heard Itanya shouting. His head shot up from the laundry basin and he saw Chief Aadru storming towards him with ferocity gleaming in his eyes. Itanya was stumbling along behind him. She clutched him by the back of his shawl, tried to stop him but he only dragged her along.

 

            Lukas stood up as he approached, muscles tensed and ready to run. “Addie, please, you’re just surly because you’re hungover! Calm down before you do anything! Nothing happened between us, I swear to you!” cried Itanya. “Lu’s only a friend! Please, _please_ don’t hurt him!” A nosy warrior must have mentioned something after all, Lukas figured.

 

            Aadru advanced on him and raised his crystal staff high in the air. Shielding his face with his arms, the Fanaka son stepped back, then the staff struck him like a falling branch and he was cast to the ground. He fell with a grunt. The world flashed white as the air was knocked from his lungs.

 

            He tried to inhale but Aadru’s sandaled foot came down hard on his chest, pushing the crystal end of his staff against Lukas’ neck. Lukas clutched the chief’s ankle and croaked helplessly, “D-don’t kill me! It’ll hurt her. S-she’s telling the truth—she has no choice!”

 

            The pressure against his chest lifted just slightly. Aadru’s glare shifted over to Itanya as the other Kaconenans milled about, pretended to ignore the drama. “Aadru, you’re being ridiculous!” exclaimed Itanya. “Can I not have friends? Do you not trust me to be faithful?”

 

            “It is _him_ I do not trust!” Aadru replied, jabbing the crystal further against Lukas’ throat. “You are lovely in every way, _Amra_ , but you are all too naïve. Commoners _lie_. They spill untruths like water from a sieve. A lowly slave has no reason to be in your chambers. Especially during the night, and _especially_ when I am absent! What if he had hurt you?”

           

            “He would never!” Itanya argued, stamping her foot in frustration. “You have hurt far more people than he ever has. Now let him be!” She grabbed the staff and pulled it away from Lukas’ neck, tried to yank it from Aadru’s grip. The chief jerked it back and away from her completely, giving her a shove.

 

            Itanya reeled back, nearly fell over as her husband growled, “You do not give orders to your chief! Go back to your chambers at once. The human is my property and I will do with him as I wish.”

“You will not hurt him!” Itanya screamed, fists balled at her sides.

 

            Aadru shouted back, “For all the grief he has caused between us, I may as well kill him! My patience grows thinner with this one every day!” His head whipped towards Lukas once more, raising the staff above him. The crystal edge began to glow and sparks of electricity buzzed to life, leaping and arcing in a spiral formation.

 

            Itanya let out a shriek and Lukas rolled to the side just in time. The staff came down and stuck into the dirt. Itanya leaped onto her husband’s back and shouted, “Run, Lu!” On his feet in a flash, Lukas dashed away aimlessly. He weaved through busy Kaconenans while Chief Aadru threw Itanya to the ground and pursued him.

 

            Aadru aimed the staff. It made a loud popping sound as a bolt of electricity shot forth from the crystal. Lukas shoved passed a random warrior and the shot struck him instead. The warrior cried out and dropped to the ground in a twitching, convulsing heap.

 

            “Filthy vermin! You’re good as dead!” seethed Aadru as he jumped over the warrior just behind Lukas. He fired another shot and missed by a hair, burning a hole in the side of someone’s tent. Lukas reached the edge of the camp and stumbled back. Two zebra jockeys blocked his path.

 

            One took a swing with a scythe and he dodged it, heading to the right. He heard the pop of Aadru’s staff and had a half-second to react. The shot missed him when he darted to the side, zapping a burlap bag and causing it to explode. Grain scattered all over the ground.

 

            Lukas slipped on the kernels and went sliding into a stack of wine crates. The topmost boxes fell around him in a mighty crash, glittering glass and palm wine splashing everywhere. He tried to get up and simply slipped in the mess, and then Aadru was standing over him, all sweat and rage.

 

            “I’ve had enough! One of us dies today!” the chief snarled, aiming the glowing staff at Lukas’ face. An instant later, a flash of black and white stripes zipped by Lukas’ vision and Aadru was gone. The shot fired off into the sky. Lukas blinked, took a moment to process that Aadru’s own zebra had just plowed straight into its master at full speed.

 

            The chief rolled under the speeding animal’s hooves, losing his grip on the staff. The zebra whooped as it trampled him before galloping away back to the stable of wood and straw. Lukas’ eyes followed it to Itanya, hunching near the stable with fear in her eyes.

 

            Lukas swiped the staff and pointed it at the chief, who was slowly stumbling back to his feet. Blood trickled from his nose and hoof-shaped welts printed his body. Warriors on zebraback trotted up to the scene, surrounding them in a circle with weapons drawn. Lukas glanced around at them. Sweat beaded his brow. Nowhere to go.

 

            Aadru took a step forward and Lukas raised the staff threateningly. The chief snorted, spit out a mouthful of blood and simply laughed. “What are you going to do, Commoner? Fire at me?”

 

            Lukas’ grip faltered slightly. The other warriors began to laugh around him, amused by the thought of a human trying to wield magic. In his hands, the staff was little more than a fancy stick.

 

            Trying desperately to save face before his inevitable death, Lukas tightened his grip and replied, “Yeah. I’m a perfect shot.” With that, he grunted as he hurled the staff like a spear.

 

            Voices gasped all around. Chief Aadru’s laughter ceased when the crystal edge stabbed through his belly. Itanya’s shriek pierced the air above everything. She sprinted over from the stables, pushing warriors out of her way to enter the circle. Aadru’s knees knocked and he wobbled, but he did not drop.

 

            “Stop this! Both of you, that’s _enough_!” the elfenne screamed. The surrounding warriors stared with wide eyes, silent, awkward, and unmoving. She turned to Aadru’s wound, just beginning to leak blood around the puncture. The staff was about five inches deep and probably wedged in his intestines.

 

            Itanya grasped the wooden handle and her husband gnashed his teeth, grunted loudly when she pulled the weapon out in one quick jerk. A gush of blood came after, running down and soaking into his pants. Itanya handed the staff back to Lukas where it was marginally less dangerous, slapped her hands over the wound and they too were quickly stained red.

 

            “I care so much for you both,” Itanya sniffled, tears streaming down as she blinked her eye. “You believe you fight to protect me, but you’re hurting me as much as you’re hurting eachother. You’re stupid, lovestruck fools, the two of you!” A warm glow came to life beneath the flesh of her hands, casting her bones in dark shadow.

 

            Aadru and Lukas shot eachother sheepish glances, Lukas still holding the staff in a death-grip while Aadru’s chest heaved, face contorted in pain. The blood leaking from his wound began to retreat back inside. That which stained his clothes was lifted away as if it were never there.

 

            Sweat glistened on Itanya’s brow. Her hands trembled over the wound. She was deep in concentration until her eye rolled back and she collapsed to the ground. Aadru and Lukas both shot forward, too late to catch her. The hole in the chief’s belly was healed over completely with only a gnarled scar in its place.

           

            Lukas set the staff down and caressed the side of Itanya’s face. Her eye was barely open and rolled back, only her green sclera visible in the slits of her lid. “Itanya…?” he queried. She was still breathing, at least. Aadru dropped to his knees and gave the Fanaka son a hard shove, sending him tumbling in a backwards somersault.

 

            Quickly snatching his staff in one hand, Aadru picked up Itanya and slung her over his opposite shoulder. He glared at Lukas and said, “She is suffering arcane fatigue, thanks to you. She could have drained herself to death!” Lukas didn’t know a whole lot about magic. All he knew was that Itanya was looking pale and limp as if she just escaped a near-drowning experience.

 

            “I-I’m sorry, I—” he began, and the next thing he knew, there was a white flash and a loud pop. Aadru struck him with a bolt of electricity and Lukas cried out, body quaking like a leaf in a hurricane before he hit the ground. Bright stars faded in and out of his vision. The world warped in front of his eyes.

 

            The chief’s voice sounded foggy and distant when he snorted, “Wretch,” and then he turned and disappeared. Lukas tried to move. His body refused to cooperate. His jaw was locked tight, eyes wide and unblinking. He was stuck that way as the circle of warriors dispersed, leaving only the rising red sun in the clear blue sky in Lukas’ field of view.

 

*

 


	3. Man Without a Face

## [CHAPTER 3: MAN WITHOUT A FACE]

 

            Lukas didn’t know how long he lied there paralyzed. It could have been minutes or hours, but eventually his joints started to loosen. He rolled himself onto his belly, squeezing his dry eyes shut, working his sore jaw. When he opened his eyes he saw the village operating as usual. Kaconenans stepped around him like he wasn’t even there.

 

            Chief Aadru could have ended him then and there with ease, but for whatever reason he had chosen not to. Lukas could reasonably assume he had Itanya to thank for that. He could also assume that next time—well, there wouldn’t be a next time. He had a feeling this was his first and last warning.

 

            Staying apart from Itanya was not an option. He may as well be dead if life were to be so miserable. So he would just have to be more careful, he thought, and that he could certainly—

 

            Heavy drumbeats began thundering through the village, accompanied by loud horn blasts. War sirens. The Kaconenans stopped to listen for a brief moment. Then they dropped whatever they were doing and drew their weapons, warriors and women alike while children ran to the tents for safety.

 

            But they were on their home turf, not raiding anyone. Which could only mean…

 

            “The village is under attack! Enemies on the east horizon!” a scout shouted through a conical amplifier horn. Lukas willed his exhausted, stiff body to stand upright. He had a few false starts, then finally found his balance. He glanced up at the sun, oriented himself east and hurried to investigate.

 

            It was difficult to see anything with the sun rising before him. He shielded his eyes and squinted, standing there while zebra jockeys galloped forth around him. It was too bright and he couldn’t see a thing, but he heard a familiar sound. Hollow, wooden, something whizzing through the air.

 

            Lukas bolted away, rolling behind a tent just as a volley of iron-tipped arrows hit ground. They struck the dirt and the tent and several Kaconenan shields. He heard a couple zebras cry out as they were pierced, saw one go down and fall atop of its rider while the rest charged towards the horizon.

 

            The enemy was sharply backlit, reducing them to black shadows in the distance. Most of them were mounted on some kind of horned animal, possibly gemsbok, which meant they were likely Yerim-Mor soldiers. But as Lukas examined one of the arrows stuck in the tent, he had a much more horrifying realization.

 

            Striped rainbow wood shaft, parrot feather ends…There was no mistaking it: these were Uekoran arrows. Lukas peeked around the side of the tent again. Kaconenan women were running back from the armory with leather shields, stone throwing axes, and bows. They returned the volley of fire, projectiles arcing over their own warriors and into the fray of foreign shadows.

 

            Lukas saw a horned mount fall. The rest of the enemies absorbed the volley and kept charging forward. They were more visible now as they stepped out of the blinding whiteness. Kaconenan warriors on the backs of okapi, all clad in their leather armor, bright feathers, and colorful war paint like rainbow tree bark bleeding down their faces.

 

            All their colors contrasted with the masked, monochrome Kaconenans and their black and white mounts. The Kaconenan warriors charged forward to battle as far from the camp as possible, while the women stayed behind and formed a wall of shields at its eastern edge. One more hulking zebra with beads in its mane galloped by, leaped over the shield wall and followed the others.

 

            It was Chief Aadru, Lukas could tell by the flash of his red shawl that stuck out from his soldiers’ monochrome garb. The two forces clashed together about a quarter-mile from the camp. Shouting people, clanging weapons, whooping zebras, and braying okapi echoed over the breeze.

 

            Another volley of arrows came spraying towards the camp. Lukas took cover behind the tent again. He heard a few screams, and when he peeked out, two women had broken from the shield wall. They lie in blood with arrows stuck through them, one unmoving and the other wailing in pain.

 

            The others ignored them, simply moved closer to close the gaps in the wall. The skies were clear for the moment, so Lukas crept forward to the unmoving woman and pulled the quiver from her back. It was full of stone-tipped arrows, the shafts painted with black and white stripes. White stork feathers decorated the ends.

 

            He snagged her bow as well, carved from baobab wood. Slinging the quiver around his shoulder, he tugged at the bow’s string, tested its give. The wood was more supple than what he was accustomed to, but he could still surely make use of it. Lukas ran across the camp, making a beeline for the chief’s tent.

 

            Above all else, he needed to get Itanya to safety. Throwing open the flap, he burst through the doorway and found…No one. Then he heard the whooping of a zebra outside. He looked towards the stable adjacent to the tent and there she was, climbing upon a zebra’s back.

 

            She still looked weary and pale, in no condition to be out of bed. A leather and bone helmet protected her head, a leather sash around her torso. Anything else was probably too heavy for her in such a state. “Itanya!” Lukas exclaimed, running to her and grabbing the animal’s reigns. “Ride west and take cover in Kandul! I’ll be right behind!” The elfenne jerked the reigns from his hands, then pulled a crystal-tipped wand off her belt.

 

            “Aadru’s in danger. I need to protect him!” she said.

“You are in no condition!” Lukas shouted, seizing the reigns once more. “Please, don’t do this, Itanya! Keep yourself safe, it’s what he would want!”

 

            “Lukas,” the elfenne began. She looked down at him with ferocity simmering deep in her eyes. “These are Moswen’s troops. Still she tries to torment me even as I walk free. This fight is personal.” With that, she whipped the reigns and the zebra sprang forward with a whoop, knocking Lukas to the ground.

 

            The Fanaka son called out to her, but she was already leaping over the shield wall. There was still another zebra left in the stable. He scrambled for it, grabbed its mane and tried to sling his leg over its back. Just as soon, the animal bucked and whipped around, knocking him to the ground again.

 

            So they truly were not tamed, only enchanted slaves to the Kaconenans’ magic. Lukas ran through the village, saw a few more women take arrows, heard children crying inside the tents. Uekoran troops wouldn’t hurt children, he thought, until he realized Moswen the Child-Mangler was probably the one leading this battalion in search of him. His stomach twisted into a knot.

 

            The distant tangle of soldiers was spreading out. Formations split apart into chaos. Some Uekoran soldiers broke away and charged for the shield wall. The Kaconenan women made a palisade of spears, hunkered down for impact. Lukas dodged out of the way as the okapi leaped over the wall and breached the camp.

 

            A couple weren’t so nimble. One okapi was skewered. Another caught its hind legs on a shield and toppled over, sending its rider and the shield-woman tumbling. “Prince Fanaka! Is that you?” called a Uekoran, slowly and cautiously advancing to him. Lukas backed away, fastening the bow to his quiver.

 

            Spooked, the unmounted okapi bucked about in circles until Lukas seized it by the horns and swiftly swung his leg around its neck. Once he was in the saddle, the beast regained its composure and he darted away on it. The soldier called after him, “Wait! We are here to rescue you!”

 

            Their intentions mattered not to Lukas. He wouldn’t return to Uekoro for anything. The shield wall was breaking apart to deal with the Uekorans who got into the camp, and Lukas simply rode through towards the battle ahead. Nocking an arrow in his strange foreign bow, he rode along the messy edges of the fray and fired.

 

            Some of these Uekoran soldiers were familiar faces. Lukas couldn’t make himself shoot to kill. One of his arrows pierced a soldier’s arm, another lodged itself into a thigh. He saw a flash of red in the chaos—Chief Aadru’s shawl, and heard the popping and crackling of the electric staff.

 

            Lukas’ okapi leaped over some Uekorans convulsing on the ground. Everywhere, the soil was soaked with splatters of blood. Lukas alone disabled five soldiers with his bow just to lower the chances of Itanya getting hurt. He still couldn’t find her, was about to shoot a weapon out of a soldier’s hands when his okapi suddenly went down.

 

            Tumbling forward, Lukas rolled twice and his mouth filled with bloodied soil. Through the blur of his vision, he saw his okapi limp away with a wound on its hind leg. A Uekoran military captain stood above him, his okapi and armor adorned with extra frills.

 

            The captain slid his sword back in his scabbard. He dismounted and guided his mount in front of them, using it as a shield while he kneeled down to Lukas with his hand extended. Lukas took it and they crouched behind the okapi. The captain’s face was partially obscured by a leather helmet with long, colorful feathers sprouting from the back. Equally colorful stripes of warpaint were streaked down his eyes to his neck.

 

            Even through all of that, Lukas recognized those eyes anywhere, and they were staring back at him with a mixture of anger and concern. “Jelani…?” he queried. It was barely audible over the madness around them.

 

            Jelani had a round leather shield on his left arm. He raised it and caught an incoming arrow as he replied, “Come home. Now.”

“Not without Itanya,” Lukas told him sternly. “She’s somewhere out here—she’s going to get killed!”

“So let her!” growled Jelani, giving his brother’s shoulder a shake. “Our father is dead, Lukas! The crown has been passed to me and I want the damn thing little more than you do!”

 

            Lukas’ stomach flipped. His shoulders sank as he gripped at the hollow feeling in his chest, as if he could somehow soothe it. “Why did you go back?” His voice was little more than a creak.

Jelani told him, “Because otherwise, I would not have the manpower to rescue you. I hoped you would come to your senses by now.”

 

            “Well, I haven’t.” Lukas stood up, gathered his bow. He grabbed the okapi by the reigns and jumped on its back. “I’m going to find Itanya and get her out of here.” That said, he kicked his heels and the okapi broke into a run. Jelani screamed something after him and gave chase, but in his cumbersome heavy armor, he was left in the dust.

 

            Lukas weaved between abandoned zebras, leaped over the dead and wounded, fired arrows at stragglers as he went. There was so much red dust billowing through the air, he could hardly make out anything at a distance. But among all the male voices, he heard one feminine scream.

 

            He charged towards it, following the sound until he finally found Itanya. She’d been dismounted, her zebra lying dead several feet away. A Uekoran soldier was grappling with her, trying to take the wand from her hand. The crystal tip buzzed with electricity, but she could not maneuver it away from the sky.

 

            Finally the soldier seized it and tossed it away. He spun around so that his back was to Lukas and pushed her onto the ground. He straddled the elfenne and took a dagger from his hip, ready to sink it straight into her throat. She seized his arm with both hands. It became a battle of strength she was quickly losing.

 

            Lukas had little time to react and even less time to think. Even the okapi couldn’t sprint to them fast enough. Only an arrow could make it in time, so he nocked it in one swift motion, aimed with trembling hands, and let it fly.

 

            He targeted the back of the Uekoran soldier’s head. Lukas knew their leather helmets were thin enough that the soldiers wouldn’t overheat in the brutal Midland sun, and as a result they were no match for a solid, close-range shot either. He didn’t know this soldier’s name, didn’t recognize him personally. Though he was one of his own people Lukas quickly accepted that he had to die for the sake of his life, his love, his best friend.

 

            But that wasn’t the case after all.

 

            The arrow whizzed by the soldier’s thrashing head, missing by a fraction of a hair. Itanya let out a scream as it plunged into her neck instead. Lukas’ jaw dropped, eyes rounding like coins. His blood felt as if it had turned to ice in his veins. The soldier jumped to his feet and whipped around to face Lukas.

 

            A confused expression crossed the soldier’s face when he saw another human before him. Not just any human, but his former prince. Then but a moment later, a Kaconenan rode by on a zebra and swiftly skewered him on a polearm. The bow fell from Lukas’ grip. He dismounted the okapi, his body shambling forward like a walking corpse.

 

            He dropped to his knees beside Itanya and cradled her head into his lap. She grasped at the arrow for a moment, gasping and gurgling. She dropped her hands when she realized nothing could be done. Too weak for even a simple healing spell. “Itanya,” Lukas croaked. Tears welled in his terrified eyes. “I’m sorry, I-I’m so sorry...I wasn’t trying to…I meant to…”

 

            The elfenne's bloody hand reached out and locked fingers with his. Her breath came ragged, red foam beginning to bubble in her mouth. Tears spilled from Lukas and his voice hitched, pressing his forehead to hers as he sobbed, “This can’t be happening…No, no, no, no, please…!”

 

            The battle around them became distant and muffled, like an abstract dreamworld passing them by. The fear and panic in Itanya’s eyes gave way to a cool calm. Her bloody lips spread into a smile and her grip tightened on Lukas’ hand. She was dying. She was dying, it was Lukas’ fault, and there was nothing he could do about it.

 

            The Fanaka son gnashed his teeth as his body was consumed by pain. It started at his chest and spread throughout. Everything in his brain turned to static and yet his mouth started running anyway. Of all stupid things, a poem spilled out. It was the one he had written for her while he was at away at the Athenaeum, when his heart was breaking and he missed her the most.

 

            The poem that, when he saw Jelani’s music box, he decided was too hokey and ridiculous to embarrass himself with. The poem he hadn’t the courage to show her, so he crumpled it up and threw it in the trash. He recited,

 

            “ _In the land of shadow,_

_You are my light,_

_My precious candle,_

_Aglow through the night,_

_You are my sun,_

_My stars above,_

_My hope, my joy,_

_My life, my love,_

_And when it’s over,_

_I say no prayer,_

_I fear no shadow,_

_For you are there_.”

 

            The final words rasped from Lukas’ throat, choked by quivering sobs. Gapped teeth flashed behind Itanya’s lips. Her trembling hand slipped under the neckline of her top and she retrieved a necklace on a very worn, leather cord.

 

            Itanya pulled it over her head and pressed it into his palm. When Lukas uncurled his fingers, he saw a little silver key. It was the key to her old shackles. He looked back at her, brows sagged above wide, wet eyes. She pressed her hand over her heart and simply smiled back.

 

            Lukas felt her grip on his hand grow weak. Her eyelid fluttered and slowly fell closed. Head lulled to the side, blood trickled from her mouth. She was so still, so quiet. In that moment she had gone, yet her smile still remained.

 

            The world seemed to fall away. The blood and carnage didn’t matter anymore. Lukas’ locks fell around his face like a curtain as he dropped his head in mourning. A broken sob escaped through his pressed teeth, his tears dropping onto Itanya’s forehead.

 

            He looped the necklace around his neck, clutching the pendant so hard in his quivering fist that it was piercing his flesh. He had killed her. All this time he’d been trying to save her from the world, and it was he who finally took her life. The static in his brain went wild, drowning out the screams and violence ahead and behind and all around.

 

            A long, enraged scream erupted over it all. Lukas’ head shot up, turning towards Chief Aadru. The screaming chief was sprinting towards him on zebraback, electric staff raised high for a strike. Adrenaline surged through Lukas’ weary limbs and he scrambled back, diving just out of reach as the staff and four heavy hooves swooped passed.

 

            Aadru jumped off his mount and hurried to Itanya’s body, dropping to his knees beside her. He pushed his war mask to the back of his head, looked down at her helplessly, chest rising high and falling low. His eyes flicked about in disbelief. With a mighty roar, he raised his staff and stabbed it into the dirt beside her.

 

            He grasped the handle with both hands, hunching over her body like an arch over the river. “ _Amra_! My lady, my dear _Amra_!” he howled. Lukas couldn’t help but feel pity even for Aadru while the chief wailed loud, angry sobs at the ground. Placing his hands on either side of her face, Aadru pressed his lips to her forehead and remained there for some time.

 

            Lukas couldn’t move. Shock had overtaken him and nothing felt real. Somehow he didn’t feel like he was one with his body anymore. That is, until he saw Aadru rise and rip his staff from the dirt. The chief was storming towards him now, the end of his weapon glowing with electricity. With a jerk of his hand, he pushed the war mask over his face once more.

 

            Whether he saw Lukas shoot her or not, Lukas had no idea. It didn’t seem to matter. He was furious, he was hurt, and Lukas was the most vulnerable target around him. The Fanaka son stepped back a few paces. There was nowhere to go. Zebra and okapi jockeys sped by on all sides with their thundering hooves, blades and arrows flying.

 

            His heel caught a stone and Lukas fell on his back, Aadru still advancing at a slow, deliberate pace. His red shawl whipped in the breeze with his tangled red hair. Red blood was splattered and smeared all over his skin and Lukas swore he saw his eyes glow red with rage behind his mask.

 

            Aadru raised his staff. Lukas curled up and instinctively shielded his face. Then he heard a rough, gurgling scream as something warm splashed all over him. Lukas cautiously peeked through his arms. There was Aadru, standing stiffly with his staff raised in both hands above his head.

 

            A red blade was jutting out from his middle, about where Lukas had stabbed him earlier in the day. The blade sliced upwards to his ribcage, then disappeared, leaving a long gash in the chief’s belly. Blood gushed and pink intestines flashed in the wound. The buzzing electricity arcing around his staff flickered to tiny sparks.

           

            The chief dropped to his knees and revealed none other than Jelani standing behind him. With another swift swipe of his blade, Jelani chopped it through the side of his neck before pulling it out and delivering a kick to his spine. Aadru was knocked forward onto his face, writhing and gurgling in a growing pool of blood.

 

            Lukas’ eyes flicked down at himself. He was covered in sweat, dirt, and blood both Itanya’s and Aadru’s and perhaps even his own. He wasn’t sure if he was injured. He was numb to all feeling. Jelani stepped around the chief and stopped before his brother. He offered a hand yet again.

 

            A silence passed between them. Lukas batted his hand away and stood up on his own. He refused to meet his brother’s gaze as he turned and staggered towards his stolen okapi—the one decked out in fine embellishments that had been Jelani’s in the first place.

 

            Jelani watched, silent and unmoving as his brother climbed on the beast’s back and rode away. He weaved through his allies, his enemies, and all their corpses until he was but a speck on the horizon.

 

*

 

            For how long the battle raged, who won or even who survived, Lukas could not say. That was all well over three months ago.

 

            He knew not what became of Jelani or the current state of Uekoro. Catching wind of current events was tough in this isolated little outpost, sitting somewhere in the Serkel Desert just outside the town of Chidibe. Chidibe was one of Yerim-Mor Kingdom’s territories which was nestled just a stone’s throw away from the capital city.

 

            So Lukas had made it here after all, though not at all the way he planned. He bolted across the savannah on Jelani’s okapi for miles until a pride of lions gave chase. Lukas sacrificed the okapi as bait, running himself ragged until he arrived at a small goblin village.

 

            The goblins were wary of him but hospitable nonetheless, as they saw his copper collar and took pity on him as a runaway slave. He caught a ride with one of their trading carts and ended up in a more northern village. Catching a ride on another northbound cart, he repeated this tactic until he was half-way across the Serkel Desert.

 

            Of course his good fortune couldn’t last long. A gang of bandits blocked the trade route, robbed the cart and killed or enslaved the passengers—including Lukas. The former prince was sold off, stolen, sold off again, escaped once or twice, recaptured and sold off a third time to his current masters.

 

            They were a motley crew of lowlifes who made their hideout from this abandoned military outpost. There were maybe twenty of them total, Lukas wasn’t sure anymore. They were always coming and going, leaving sober and returning drunk or with some wench on their arms.

 

            Lukas was only there to clean up their messes and take their abuse. Supposedly one of them accidentally killed their last housekeeper in a fit of drunken rage. He was starting to wish he’d meet the same fate. He used to devise escape plans, but he didn’t even dream of it these days. The weight of apathy had grown too heavy until Lukas finally snapped.

 

            Without love, without purpose or direction, he did not want nor wish anymore. Here in this godforsaken place he was not Lukas Fanaka, Prince of Uekoro. He was just another faceless washout in shackles. So every day, he kept his head down and did as his masters told him. He hadn’t cracked a smile or even cried since Itanya’s death, hadn’t felt anything at all. His existence didn’t matter anymore.

 

            It was just another evening at the outpost. The place was built from stone bricks that were worn down from years of sand exposure, three stories tall with boarded windows and only one exit. The bottom floor was the common area where Lukas spent most of his time sweeping, scrubbing, and washing an endless flow of dishes and laundry.

 

            There was a dartboard in this room. Every night just before sunset, the bandits would gather round with food and drinks to watch Lukas pierce the bullseye again and again. Standing atop a chair, Lukas threw another. The needle struck the cork right in its red center and the bandits roared with amusement.

 

            “Bet’cha can’t do it blind!” said an elf with scars on his face. He hopped onto the table and tied a scrap of cloth around Lukas’ head like a blindfold. Using his muscle memory from the last throw, Lukas pierced the target yet again and applause echoed all around.

 

            The elf ripped the blindfold away and pushed Lukas off the chair. “Back up ten paces!” he commanded, and Lukas obeyed. He threw a dart from ten paces back and it hit another in the center, knocking it from the board. Once again the bandits cheered and whistled.

 

            They gave Lukas other things to throw, everything from forks to cleavers to actual throwing knives. Lukas hit the bullseye until the board split in two and fell to the floor.

 

            “He’s got a devil’s eye!” one of them shouted.

Another cried out, “The sweep’s a perfect shot! Boss, why don’t we recruit ‘im?”

 

            Sitting in the corner of the room was a burly satyr. He had dusky brown skin and long black hair that was starting to turn gray. A strap of hair grew on his jawline, several gold rings hanging from his goat-like ears. Like all satyrs, his legs were covered in fur and ended in cloven hooves, with two curved horns sprouting from his head.

 

            He was Gazwan, leader of the bandits, and the only one whose name Lukas bothered to remember. He leaned back in a deteriorated old chair with his hooves crossed on the table, watching Lukas with bloodshot eyes. “I don’t recruit slaves,” he said. His voice was like tumbling gravel. “Can’t trust ‘em to stay loyal. Today he throws knives at a board, but tomorrow it could be your face.”

 

            Lukas rolled his eyes. If they only knew who he was, they would sell him back to Uekoro in a heartbeat. Jelani would pay a fat ransom, he was sure. As if a gaggle of uncultured cutpurses would recognize a noble’s face when they saw one, would even recognize his name…

 

            As far as he could tell, half of these people couldn’t even read. Yerim-Mor was the most impoverished of the Great Kingdoms. Since the Gold River War tore its economy apart, the younger generations missed out on a proper education. It wasn’t called a “Felon Factory” for nothing, as the people began turning to crime just to put food in their mouths.

 

            Gazwan’s party had found a comfortable little niche, if the chest bursting with treasure on the third floor was any indication. The outpost was built on a major trade route where caravans full of valuables passed through all the time. It was once manned by the Yerim-Mor guard, but the kingdom simply didn’t have the resources anymore.

 

            With no more dartboard to amuse them, the bandits put Lukas back to work. He was elbow-deep in a basin of brown dishwater when the front door suddenly swung open. It hit the wall with a loud bang. All the bandits turned to see a mysterious stranger sauntering into the room, twirling an iron key on his finger.

 

            He was a human probably no older than Lukas, a hulking mountain of muscle and slapdash, scavenged armor. His right leg was amputated below the knee with a metal peg in its place. Stubble peppered his squared jaw and his skin was probably peach-toned at one point, now pink with sunburn.

 

            The man walked all the way across the room. His peg leg clunked on wood with each step. The bandits stared, silent and tense as he approached Gazwan and slapped the key on the table with a little smile. The only way he could have acquired it was if he’d taken out the two doormen. The bandit leader didn’t move from his position, hooves still elevated comfortably as he looked up at him.

 

            After a sip from his amphora, Gazwan queried flatly, “Who the hell are you?”

“Evan Atlas, Freelance Good Guy,” replied the stranger. “And you must be the notorious Gazwan of Goldstep Outpost. Your face is plastered all over Chidibe, you know. And I must say, they truly captured your likeness!”

 

            Lukas’ eyes darted this way and that, looking just as confused as everyone else. Except for Gazwan, who seemed more bored than anything as he finished the last of his drink. Then he pushed the amphora aside, turned and said to his men, “Lookit that, Boys. I finally got a bounty on me! We’re in the big leagues now!”

 

            There was laughter all around. Lukas didn’t think it was so funny. He dried his hands with a sigh, already wondering what his new masters would be like. Maybe they would feed him something other than stale bread crusts and chicken feed.

 

            With a patient smile, Evan said, “Actually, I wasn’t sent for you. I’m just here for a stolen heirloom. Silver pocket watch, crystal face, a bird engraved on the back? I’m sure you’re familiar with it.”

 

            Gazwan slid his legs off the table and leaned his elbow on the back of the chair. “Yeah, I think I’ve seen somethin’ like that lying around here,” he replied with a smirk. “But I don’t appreciate strangers rootin’ through my stuff. So why don’t you hobble on back to Chidibe and bother someone else?” The circle of bandits grew smaller around them. Lukas heard the scrape of weapons slowly leaving their scabbards, saw the glint of metal blades.

 

            Evan’s smile faded. His hand rested on the handle of the machete at his hip. He wore a crude wooden shield on his opposite arm. “I’m not leaving without it, Gazwan. Now, I’m a man of honor and I don’t like to get rough, so I’m giving you a choice: You hand over the watch and live, or you and your men die over a simple trinket. Choose wisely.”

 

            A low murmur spread through the circle of bandits. Gazwan rose to his hooves and whipped the shortsword from his hip. He growled, “I choose to keep what is mine!” The satyr’s blade sliced through the air and quick as a flash, Evan raised his rusty old machete to meet it.

 

            The metal swiped together with a screech and Gazwan leaped first onto the chair, then to the tabletop. His hooves clunked on the wood as he hopped forward and brought his sword down again. Evan parried the strike, then quickly whirled around to counter the bandit trying to sneak up from behind.

 

            Shouts and clanging metal flared up, furniture toppling and blood spraying. Lukas scrambled towards the stairs. He crouched and peeked over the banister at the carnage ahead, and all he could think was what a mess there would be when all this was over.

 

            He didn’t know the character or intentions of this random mercenary, but Lukas hoped he would win this fight if only so he didn’t have to clean the blood off the walls. It wasn’t likely, as what kind of fool waltzed into a bandit-infested outpost _alone_?

 

            Judging by his race and accent, Evan was obviously a foreigner from the cold, rainy land of Noalen, so Lukas could only assume the poor bastard was suffering sun-madness. Lukas was feeling a bit of that himself since he arrived in the desert. He’d been accustomed to the humidity of the Midland Jungle his whole life.

 

            Meanwhile the heat of the Serkel Desert was dry, intense, and completely unbearable at high sun. A single magical everfloe crystal dangled from the ceiling, the only thing separating this outpost from a giant oven. It was nearly shattered as someone’s dagger was knocked from their hand and went spinning through the air.

 

            It flew across the room and Lukas flinched as the blade stuck into the banister. The bandits were a pit of flailing limbs and blood spray while Gazwan stood on the table and cheered them on. Lukas couldn’t even see Evan anymore, buried somewhere in the circle of violence.

 

            Suddenly a bandit shot high into the air. He flailed and screamed, landing on his back several feet away. Another bandit was launched half-way across the room. The first was just getting up as a third bandit flew into him and both were knocked unconscious.

 

            The circle was being deformed and broken apart. Men started flying backwards as if launched by a catapult. Lukas cringed when they landed, seeing the way their bodies had been mutilated. Limbs were severed, faces sliced, bellies torn open, blood and innards strewn everywhere as if they’d been attacked by a hurricane of cleavers.

 

            That hurricane was apparently just Evan. The remaining bandits were fleeing now, about six scrambling out the door while the rest lie dead and wounded at the mercenary’s feet. He stepped over them, panting and soaked with blood, and approached Gazwan still standing on the table.

 

            The satyr quickly backed away. His eyes were as round as coins. “How did you…? W-what _are_ you?” he stammered. The back of his hoof met the table’s edge and he wobbled, flailed before he hit the floor. The sword fell from his grip and clattered on the ground.

 

            Evan kicked the weapon out of his grasp and stood over him. “I want that watch, Gazwan. Last chance.” He raised the machete above his head.

Immediately the satyr waved his hands and blubbered, “Alright, alright, no more! Just—For the gods’ sakes, _stop_ , you damn butcher!”

 

            Lowering his machete, Evan extended his free hand to the bandit leader. Gazwan nearly accepted it, then hesitated before slapping it away. He got to his feet on his own and said, “Hoard’s on the third floor. Take what you want, I’m gettin’ out of here! See a priest about that demon, Merc!”

 

            Shoving passed the mercenary, Gazwan sprinted out the door and slammed it shut behind him. The room was left dim and quiet, except for the moaning of the wounded bandits. They lie writhing on the floor, surely just a few ragged breaths from death. Evan frowned down at them, eyes sullen and dark.

 

            Then they flicked up, stared straight at Lukas peeking at him from the stairway. Lukas’ brows jumped and he ducked out of sight. He heard heavy, plodding footsteps—sharp thumping of the metal peg on wood—and his heart raced as they grew closer. He couldn’t explain the one-man slaughter-fest he just witnessed. Maybe _he_ was the one with sun-madness.

 

            Lukas lost his nerve and scrambled up the creaky stairs, practically on all fours as his limbs refused to steady. He rounded two corners until he was at the top floor, and now he was trapped. Bad idea. The treasure chest sat at the foot of Gazwan’s bedroll just under a window.

 

            Evan’s uneven footsteps were coming up the stairs. “Hello? Someone else there?” he called. Lukas darted to the window and grabbed one of the dry old boards nailed over the frame. He tugged with all of his might, threw his entire weight behind it, but there was hardly any weight to throw.

 

            Lukas was thin when he arrived two months ago, but between meager meals he’d become emaciated since. Despite his opinions on Chief Aadru, Lukas couldn’t deny the Kaconenans fed him well. It was yams and wildebeest steak for everyone—whether they were chief, warrior, villager, or slave.

 

            The boards weren’t going anywhere. Lukas turned around. His back slid down the wall. He sat there and buried his head between his knees, wondered where all this self-preservation was coming from when his existence was nothing but misery. It was as if a tiny flame still burned somewhere inside him while everything around it was dead and hollow.

 

            The floorboards creaked. “Excuse me?” queried Evan. He kneeled before Lukas, soaked with blood and gore and how much of it was his own was uncertain.

Lukas groaned and lifted his head, thumped it back against the wall and groaned, “Just do it. Kill me and get it over with. Don’t know why I even fight it anymore.”

 

            The mercenary cocked an eyebrow. “Kill you? Why, you’re not even armed, friend,” he mentioned. Then he turned his attention to the treasure chest. Lukas watched him dig through it, tossing rings, goblets, and other gleaming treasures aside until he found a silver pocket watch.

 

            He traced the bird engraving with his gloved finger. Shaking his had, he said, “This must be it. A shame, all that bloodshed over a hunk of silver. I suppose nothing motivates like hunger.” Then he stuffed it in his pocket before removing his studded leather helm, exposing a shaggy mop of sweaty, straw-colored hair.

 

            “Pff. Trust me, Gazwan’s men don’t go hungry...” mumbled Lukas.

“No?” Evan tilted his head, placed his hands on his hips. “By the look of you, you must get the crumbs that fall from his plate.”

Lukas shook his head and told him, “Oh, no, I’m not one of his goons.”

 

            He tapped the copper collar around his neck, going on with a sigh, “I’m just a sweep. And soon as you leave, what’s left of them will come back and I’ll be scrubbing blood out of their clothes for weeks. So thanks for that.”

 

            Evan paused. He looked at Lukas, then at the treasure chest, then back at Lukas. He said, “You know, Gazwan said I could take what I want. Why don’t I take you too?”

A doubtful expression crossed Lukas’ face. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been stolen,” he said flatly.

 

            “Not as property,” Evan clarified, “but as a friend. I can take you back to town, get something in your stomach.”

Narrowing his eyes, Lukas gave the mercenary a hard, suspect stare. “What’s the catch?”

 

            Evan shrugged, pointed his thumb towards the treasure chest. “Help me carry this chest?”

“And…?”

“That’s all.”

A little crease carved itself between Lukas’ brow. He stared at the man in disbelief as he said, “I mean, sure. I guess. But… _Why_?”

 

            Another shrug from Evan, followed by a smile. “I’m a Freelance Good Guy. What kind of Good Guy keeps a person as their property? I’d be a joke!” He moved over to the chest and pushed the lid closed. He lifted one end off the floor. “Come on, help me carry this back to Chidibe. It’s a ways, but I think we’ll manage if we work together.”

 

            With a reluctant sigh, Lukas stood up and took the other end of the chest. It was indeed heavy and he trembled as he lifted it with Evan. The mercenary mumbled, “Careful now. Lift with your knees. There we go,” as they carefully maneuvered it down the stairway.

 

            When they got outside, the sun was but an orange glow behind the dunes. It faded up into a purple sky peppered with billions of twinkling stars. As miserable as the desert was during the day, Lukas had to admit the vast open sky was beautiful at night. It was a sight rarely seen under Uekoro’s jungle canopy.

 

            As they moved down the vague, dusty trail into town, Evan asked, “So, what is your name, friend?”

On a fuller stomach, running on more sleep and less stress, Lukas would have lied. But instead the truth spewed from his lips, quick and automatic, “Lukas.”

 

            He bit his tongue before his surname and entire title followed. His mother had taught him to introduce himself as Lukas Fanaka, Prince of Uekoro for years. It felt surreal, being prince no more. And if not a prince and no longer a slave, what _was_ he?

 

            Evan seemed satisfied enough. “Nice to meet you, Lukas. I’m sorry it was under such unpleasant circumstances. I realize I’ve given you a terrible first impression…”

Eyes wide under a furrowed brow, Lukas slowly shook his head. “I don’t know _what_ that was. Who taught you to fight? A meat grinder?”

 

            At this, Evan laughed. “Self-taught, mostly,” he replied, “and the rest I learned from an Evangeline veteran. I found his lost granddaughter and he taught me a thing or two in return. Say what you will about the blue kingdom, but their soldiers wield a blade as if it were their own arm.”

 

            “I take it that’s where you’re from? Evangeline Kingdom? I wouldn’t mind heading up there,” mentioned Lukas.

Evan nodded and replied, “Yes, Greenhearst originally. But I’ve been making my way down the peninsula, soon to cross the desert into Matuzu Kingdom if I can scrounge enough gold for a ride.”

 

            Lukas let out a tiny laugh, more like a gust from his nostrils. “Just came from there myself,” he said. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Might as well turn around and go back.”

“Funny, I could say the same to you.” Evan grinned.

 

*

 

            The town of Chidibe was but a shadow of its industrious past. Big factories lie abandoned and crumbling against the skyline, towering over slums of salvaged stone and wood. Sewage lined the uneven streets, perpetually flowing to the lowest parts of the town. A colorful canopy of laundry dried on lines between buildings while underfed livestock wandered free to graze on trash.

 

            The populace was left in rags, somehow making due with what little was left after their grandparents’ war. Evan and Lukas were mindful to keep the chest latched shut as they made their way to the royal district. One flash of gold, one clinking coin, could cause a riot here in the slums, especially at night.

 

            They made their way through grimy crowds and creeks of sewage to higher ground. The buildings became less crowded and dilapidated, even some greenspace lying in-between. Some of them had actual glass in the windows that were barred off with ornate brass.

 

            The blacksmith was one of the few businesses left in Chidibe. The geometric stone building was fenced off by a stone and brass wall, no frills except for the word “SMITHY” painted in bold, black letters beside the gate. It was repeated in four different languages.

 

            Two mercenaries stood guard. Evan seemed like he had business here in all his armor, so they opened the gate for him without a word. He and Lukas brought the chest inside and finally set it down on the counter, their arms left stiff and sore. One of the blacksmiths popped up to greet them, an older female dworf with a curly black beard.

 

            She stood just above 4 feet tall, her gray skin smeared with grime. The grime extended down her apron all the way to her boots. “What can I do for you, Gentlemen?” she asked. They could only assume she was standing on a stool to reach the counter at all. She looked up at them with large pink eyes under bushy brows.

 

            Evan cleared his throat and patted the top of the chest. “I need this loot melted down into bullion, please,” he told her. The dworf popped open the chest and recoiled when she saw the hoard of treasures inside.

Eyeballing the two skeptically, she asked, “And I take it you acquired all this legitimately?”

 

            Evan replied with a shrug, “I recovered them from looters…?”

“Good enough for me,” said the smithy, and with that she closed the chest and hefted it onto her back with a grunt. Lukas stared wide-eyed as she carried it off into the back room on her own. He couldn’t have lifted it at all without Evan.

 

            The two waited on a bench in silence. Evan tried to make small talk but Lukas wasn’t interested. It was best if he kept his head down in a place like this, lest someone try to take him ransom.

 

            They watched other customers come and leave, mostly Yerim-Mor soldiers who needed their weapons repaired. These soldiers were a sad sight with their worn leather armor and rusty blades, still on duty despite missing some of their body parts.

 

            Eventually the dworfen smithy returned with the chest. She slid it across the counter and told them, “Already took my payment out of it. Now get moving so I can close up shop. These streets get mean after dark.”

 

            Evan peeked inside the chest. The treasure inside was converted into gold and silver bars, encrusted gems separated into a small burlap sack. “This is perfect, thank you. Oh, but may I ask one more thing?” he asked. He tipped his head towards Lukas. “Can you take that terrible collar off my friend here?”

 

*

 

            The inn room was bare bones to say the least, though it wasn’t the worst place Lukas had slept since he left Uekoro. He was starting to get used to fleas gnawing him in the night. There were two rickety single beds with rusty brass frames, a tiny bathroom with a door that hung crooked on its hinges, and a faucet coming out of the concrete which spewed brown water into a drain below.

 

            The floor was of splintery old wood, walls cracked and drab. Evan began stripping out of his armor. He was left in a cotton shirt and thin pants, both damp with sweat. His skin was covered in cuts and bruises which, curiously, were already beginning to heal.

 

            Lukas averted his eyes as Evan removed his peg leg and washed under the faucet, leaning against the wall for balance. Filthy, bloody water swirled down the drain below. The mercenary’s big knapsack of supplies sat on his bed. He dug through it, changing clothes as Lukas reclined on the opposite bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering where he would possibly go from here.

 

            This wouldn’t be half as bad if Itanya was by his side, he thought. Even living under the tyranny of his wicked mother and a bloodthirsty warlord was tolerable with her around. That was just her way.

 

            Lukas jumped as a shadow suddenly loomed over him. There was Evan, standing there with two bottles of ale in his hands. He offered one to Lukas, who hesitated before cautiously taking it. Evan returned to his bed and cracked his open with his teeth. Lukas tried to do the same, but it was much too tough. He ended up using the buckle of his belt.

 

            Evan took a long drink. He stared pensively at the wall before he spoke. “So, you walk free with the whole world ahead of you. What are your plans now, Lukas?”

“Huh, just wondering that myself,” Lukas mumbled.

 

            He took a sip of ale and screwed up his face a little before continuing, “I thought I’d be making an honest living in Yerim-Mor capital with the love of my life, but…Well, things kind of went to pot. She’s not coming back and now my life just feels…” He paused, let out a sigh and sucked down more ale. “Pointless.”   

 

            Evan frowned, nodded in understanding. “Ah. I’m very sorry to hear that. I just went through a breakup myself a while back.” His gaze fell as he absently tapped his fingers on the side of the amber bottle. “I’m drinking a little less now, trying to remember how to function again without him.”

 

            “I think that’s my problem,” said Lukas. He pulled the little silver key out from under his shirt, hanging on a worn leather cord. He slowly turned it around in his fingers. “I was _never_ without her. We grew up together, did everything together until I went off to school. Then she…”

 

            He fell silent, shaking his head with a sigh as he tucked the key away. “Nevermind. I don’t want to talk about it.” After a pause, he turned to Evan and asked, “So, wait. Was this guy part of your crew? Or are you a one-man operation?”

 

            The mercenary cracked a fond little smile as he replied, “We were a team, yes. And a mighty one we were! We tore through miscreants like dogs through a carcass. With Zeffer, I felt like I could conquer the world.” His smile faded into something distant and doleful.

           

            “But…Well, his great power was a result of his vampirism. He needed blood to sate his madness and animal blood just wouldn’t do. He had to feed from people to stay alive.”

Lukas arched his eyebrows. “Did he ever bite you?” he asked.

 

            Evan shook his head. “No. He would get his fill from the lowlifes we were hired to hunt down. Problem is, work was hardly consistent. So in meager times, he would go mad with hunger and attack civilians in the night.” He finished the last of his ale and set the bottle aside.

 

            Then he continued with a tiny shrug, clasping his hands between his knees, “One morning I woke up to an empty bed and a note, telling me he couldn’t call himself a ‘Good Guy’ while he was harming innocents. At heart, he was a good man trapped in the form of a monster. The burden of guilt weighed too heavy on him, I suppose.”

 

            “He just,” Lukas chose his next word carefully, “disappeared?”

“Without a trace,” sighed Evan. “Whether he’s alive or dead—or _un_ dead or what have you—I cannot say. I only wish I could have done more for him. We were always searching for the vampire who turned him, but she too just seemed to vanish into the shadows.”

 

            Lukas knocked back the rest of his ale. “Good for you, marching on despite all that.” He stared down the neck of the empty bottle. “Why not go back to—was it Greenhearst? Don’t you have family who can help you out?”

“Hm,” Evan snorted, a bitter chuckle, “I’ve made a terrible mess of things back home. Showing my face there is not an option. All I can do is move where the gold takes me.”

 

            He turned to Lukas. “How about you? You said you attended school, where was that?” Lukas opened his mouth to answer, then closed it. He wondered how he should answer, or if he should answer at all. He was quiet for too long, so Evan added, “You must be educated. Obviously you speak fluent Universa, so I’m guessing you’re from a Great Kingdom territory...”

 

            Lukas remained silent, growing more uncomfortable with Evan’s accuracy. The mercenary continued, “Judging by the style of your hair, it’s a Matuzu territory, and your accent suggests it’s close to the capital city…”

“Okay, just stop,” Lukas blurted. “I can’t go home either, but I can’t tell you why. I-I’m not dangerous or anything. It’s just...Someone’s looking for me and I don’t want to be found.”

 

            “I see,” murmured Evan. The two sat in silence for a while, listening to the creaks in the building and the muffled footsteps of people in the hallway. Lukas turned the empty ale bottle over in his hand, worrying his lip between his teeth.

Suddenly Evan asked, “Do you have any skills besides your education?”

 

            Lukas took a moment to answer. He replied with a shrug, “I’m a perfect shot.”

Evan cocked an eyebrow. “Are you now?”

“Yeah. Watch this.” Lukas raised the bottle over his head and aimed it towards the little wooden trash bin in the far corner of the room.

 

            He sent it spinning at a clean arc. The bottle hit the very edge of the bin and knocked it over, spilling trash and shattering on the floor. Evan just chuckled as Lukas dragged his palm over his weary face. “ _Almost_ a perfect shot,” mumbled Lukas.

 

            “Hey, that wasn’t bad!” Evan told him with a toothy grin. Lukas trudged over to clean up the mess and the mercenary continued, “You know, I’m looking to expand my company. If you can handle a weapon, why not run a few jobs with me?”

“You mean, be a mercenary?” Lukas turned to him with an eyebrow raised.

 

            He swept glass into the trash bin with a little hand-broom as he replied, “I don’t know. I mean, you hardly know me. What if I’m not exactly a ‘Good Guy’?”

Evan said, “We’ve all got color to our pasts, friend. Some just have more red than others.” His tone was flippant, unaffected. “What matters are your intentions for the future.”

 

            Lukas set the trash bin aside and sat against the wall. “I don’t care what I do from now on. I just don’t want to go home,” he sighed. The exhaustion in his eyes ran down to his slumped posture. Evan rose from the bed and limped over, sat directly across from him.

 

            “It’s destroying you. I can tell,” said Evan. “You want to talk about what happened back there?”

Lukas raked his fingers over his unkempt locks and grumbled, “I do. I really do. I just don’t know if I can trust you; or anyone else ever again.”

 

            Evan leaned his elbows on his knees, offering a smile. Only at this distance did Lukas notice his canines and how unusually sharp they seemed as he said, “How about this…You tell me what’s eating you, and I’ll tell you what I ate before I left Greenhearst.”

 

*

 

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you noticed errors or have any feedback, it's very much appreciated. I'm an amateur writer so constructive criticism is encouraged. :)


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